Bloodlust and Honeysuckle
by Hikaru Tsukiyono
Summary: He dreamed of a cloaked man who read stories to orphans and drank away the life of a young woman who had fallen under his spell...and yet still he wonders. Who is he... and why is he so familiar? MarthRoy, AU. HIATUS.
1. Words of past and present

Well, folks--let's get right down to business. I do not own any aspect of Fire Emblem or Super Smash Brothers Melee (or any of the affiliated characters), and the reference to "The Sacred Stones" was purely for my own amusement, due to my recent addiction to the game. (Gods, Ephraim and Eirika's first support conversation is funny.)

Anyway... to get right down to business. This story is rated M for a good reason, so all of you who can't quite read this yet, please... don't go reading it and trying to sue for mental trauma caused by content. You disregard the warnings, it's _your_ fault. Anyway... as they say in games, 'rated Mature formild sexual themes and alcohol consumption.' Oh yes... but the main pairing should be quite predictable, knowing what a little one-track minded fangirl I am. Enjoy!

* * *

_"…He slept for ages, unaware of the changes that went on around him, around his cold stone chamber—how the old cemetery was abandoned, its care takers long dead, and how climbing ivy obscured the beautiful carvings on the mausoleums of the old-blooded families. He knew nothing of the busy roads that sprang up, or the bustling streets full of light and life—the swimming hole he'd once swam in with a childhood friend had been bulldozed over to make room for a strip mall, and the dark woods that he'd spent his last living moments in were almost gone. All that remained of them was the last that hid his old castle from the rest of the world, modern and restless as it was—and still he lay there in the cool dark, trapped in deathlike slumber._

_"Perhaps it was his dreams that kept him sleeping, the ones that reminded him of what he used to know—his kingdom, young like himself, and his faithful mare Annabel. And then there were dreams of red hair, and fathomless blue eyes that he could drown in… and memories of passion mixed in between._

_"But there were also nightmares, ones where fire and a treacherous ally destroyed his young kingdom, and where his people were sent, scattering as frightened refugees to many places, and even beyond… some seeking aid and shelter as far as a place ruled by a people with pointed ears, whose hero was garbed in green and wielded a legendary evil-banishing blade. There were others sent to death's gates, and beyond—often with unsettling swiftness._

_The worst dream, though, was the dream where he stared through unblinking eyes at his young lover's face, at those beautiful blue eyes… and watched them fill with tears, accompanying a voice fruitlessly crying that he could not die… that he could not just leave like that, that it would be breaking that promise he'd made. And he could do nothing—his arms were heavy, like lead, so heavy that he could not raise them—he could not lift a hand to the face he loved so much and wipe the trails of sorrow away. He could only watch helplessly, his mouth sealed so that he could not murmur words of reassurance, to reaffirm his promise to stay forever if that was what his love wished. Then a gentle hand closed his paralyzed eyes, so that he saw no more—only heard the sounds of his lover's grief grow softer and softer, until they faded away completely._

_"As the years passed, his bindings subsided, the thread sewing his mouth shut rotted away to nothing, and his lips renewed themselves so that it appeared that no needle had ever pierced them. He lay, awake and yet asleep, sealed in a tomb of purest black marble. And perhaps they were not dreams, but ancient recollections that plagued him so… he could no longer tell. Too much time had passed. All he knew was that his kingdom, the young kingdom whose people he had cherished so much—all of that was gone, even his people's bones no more than dust. Altea—yes, that had been it. That was his young kingdom's name… though it mattered little to remember it anymore. He alone of the Alteans lay asleep in this cursed not-death._

_Even the language was gone. He murmured forgotten phrases in his mind, sang old songs whose true verses had died with the kingdom in his thoughts, and mourned his loss—and yet he slept on. He knew nothing of the cold concrete and steel that this new kingdom was made of, the one that sprang up from the ash-turned-dust that had been Altea._

_"And so the prince vanished into Time's gaping maw. Even the tragic story of his kingdom's fall was never truly told, for no one had expected the attack that had destroyed it—no one even knew why it had fallen. Many said that King Hardin had become jealous of the young prince and his beautiful, prosperous kingdom, because it outshone his own (young as it was)—and sought to destroy it, to blot out its light before its time. Some claimed that the prince had offended the gods by taking a lover they had not sanctioned. Others believed that King Hardin had destroyed Altea in spite, because the prince had rejected him… but there was no one who was privy to the court's affairs among those who speculated._

_Those who wondered soon died, and their children never brought it up—for they had never known. Soon the tale of Altea's fall grew obscure, and eventually faded away into the fabric of time—and would have vanished entirely, if not for a book a young man with red hair and striking blue eyes had written… a book that told the story in its entirety, including things which not even the prince had known._

_And in the back of the book, if you turned it upside-down and held the last page first over a candle, then to a mirror, you would see the text, 'To Prince Marth, of the fallen kingdom of Altea. I promised to be with you always, and perhaps my words will keep me alive for you when you return… when you find this. With all my love—' Yet there is no name, for it was lost—and when he was freed from the seal of sleep placed over him, the prince spent years searching for the one he loved. But his search was fruitless, for he never found the one who was dearest to him."_

A hooded figure shut the book, his long, pale fingers standing out starkly against its dark cover. Under the hood, he smiled at the wide-eyed children. Brushing a strand of cobalt hair away from his face, he opened his mouth to bid them good night.

"Wait… Mister, please… can you tell us another story?" one girl asked.

"Yeah, please? We promise we'll go to bed after this one!" chorused the other children.

He chuckled helplessly. "You young ones all said that two stories ago. It's almost eleven… you have to get to bed! Matron will skin me alive if I keep you up too late."

"Please, Mister?" all the children asked, wearing puppy-eyed expressions.

The man sighed. "Very well… but you have to go to bed after this one. Promise?"

"We promise!" they chorused.

"All right… what story shall I tell this time?"

"Tell us the one about the two princes of fire and ice!" cried another girl eagerly.

"What say all of you?" the hooded man asked the other children, his hands unconsciously making a regal, sweeping gesture.

"Yes, please!"

"Very well…" He opened the book again, and flipped it to the page where the story began. _"Once upon a time, there was a prince whose eyes and hair were a cold, cold blue. He was known as the prince of ice, and possessed a sort of ethereal beauty that outshone that of many others, male and female alike… and he was as cold and silent as he was beautiful._

_At the same time, however, there was another prince, whose eyes were also blue—but they were warm, bright with life and light, and his hair was red like an open hearth. He was known as the prince of fire, his occasional hot-headedness and fiery spirit living up to his name—and he possessed his own kind of lively comeliness that outshone that of the ice prince's, though it was less spoken of. It was one cloudy day that the two princes accidentally met…"_

* * *

Having sent the children off to bed, he sensed someone coming up behind him. Standing quickly, he turned to face Matron Annika. 

"Good evening, madam." He bowed, courteously.

"Ah… as well-mannered as always, Marth. How many stories did the children demand this time?"

"No more than three, madam."

"Which ones were they this time?"

"They wanted first a tale about the wolf that ran from the city until he could see the stars… then the shortened tale of the lost prince of Altea. Then, of course, we had the one about the princes of fire and ice." He smiled faintly, something that the matron caught even under the shadow of his hood.

"Why shortened?"

"Hmm? You mean the second story? Well… the truth is, madam, I attempted to tell the full story once… but it takes far too long."

"How long could it possibly be?"

"Well, if you started from the very beginning, from the prince's birth, then you have a story that spans at least three days in length. That is… if it is told via oral tradition. I suppose if it was written down, it would take less time to tell, but I enjoy telling these old tales…" He seemed momentarily lost in thought, then shook himself back to reality and smiled kindly at the woman. "Well, I had best be off… "

"We have several spare rooms. I can let you stay the night…" Matron Annika frowned inwardly as she said this. She always offered, and he always refused… and there he was now, opening his mouth to say no.

"Thank you for your kindness, madam, but I cannot stay. I'm sorry… I have someplace I have to be before sunrise." He bowed again, and turned to leave.

"You'll be back tomorrow night?" she asked. "The children really love your stories for some reason, and I guess you're the closest thing to a library that they have…"

"Of course, madam. I did say I love to tell these old tales…" Marth smiled, and walked out the door of the orphanage into the night, the thick, handwritten tome tucked under his arm.

-----

Once away from the little orphanage, he pulled back his hood. "I miss you, love," he said, addressing the night sky. "I keep telling all of the stories you liked, and even some about us… I even went as far as writing them all down, so I didn't forget. And yet I never see you. How many years has it been?" He chuckled mirthlessly. "But no matter… I suppose I will see you again, even if it's after I've been riddled full of silver bullets or something similarly painful."

He walked on, his midnight blue hooded cloak seeming out of place when juxtaposed against the sweatshirts and jackets of the few others out this late. Checking the small golden watch tucked into a pocket of his well-worn slacks, he straightened out his silver-trimmed button-up shirt. It seemed sufficiently late enough to go visit that fairly nice bar he'd seen earlier…

* * *

Slipping easily onto a barstool, he folded his hands calmly and propped his chin up on them. 

"You look like you could use a drink, sir… what can I get you?"

"Just a glass of red wine for me, please…"

"Haven't seen your face here before… and I tend to remember customers as pretty as you. No offense meant of course, sir," the bartender commented cheerily as he poured him the requested glass of wine. "You can call me Jay… although not Popinjay. I'm more like a blue jay if I do say so myself. The popinjay's down that way," he motioned playfully at the other bartender, who stuck his tongue out at him in reply. "So… what's your name?"

Hesitating for a moment, he replied, "Marth."

"Interesting name you have there. I don't think I've ever come across a Marth in my entire life… Hey, Popinjay!" he called down to the other bartender. "I think I have one for the name book!"

"For the last time, I'm _Robin_ here, and we can talk about this later! I'm busy!" Marth had to stifle a quiet chuckle at the antics of the pair, who just like that began to argue with each other.

"If you aren't too busy, Jay, what do you mean by the 'name book'?" he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"Well," Jay replied, momentarily halting his bickering with Robin, "the name book's just a regular old guest book… except that we made it different by having only the people whose names are fairly unique sign it. You'll find no Tom, Dick, or Jane in there… although you will find people named things like Samus Aran or Link. We even got a Captain Falcon once—the bloke wouldn't give us any other name, so we put him in there. Granted, he _was_ wearing a bodysuit and a red helmet… it figures that a guy like that wouldn't use any other name. His car was a bit wacky, too… we heard that the guy got ten speed limit violations in the same week."

Marth could only smile… it was not often he met a bartender who was this talkative and yet not obnoxious.

-----

"So… are you new in town?" Jay asked. "I know most of the locals, since half of them stop here and the other half I see during the day. I know I'd remember your face, so… you must be new."

"I've been here for a while now," Marth said quietly. He wrapped his cloak a little tighter around himself with one hand, sipping from the wine glass. "One might just say that I'm more the night life type."

"You know, he looks an awful lot like one of those twins who stopped in the other day… Ephraim and Eirika, I think they were called. He's almost a dead ringer for Ephraim, except for the hair color… Ephraim's is a bit lighter," Robin commented.

"Except Eirika would have our heads for giving Ephraim any form of alcohol… you remember the last time he had a scotch on the rocks here? He was quite busy trying to beg Seth (I would pity the man, except that Ephraim _is_ rather attractive) into sleeping with him half-way through that glass. That certainly didn't go over very well with Eirika." Turning to Marth, the bartender grinned cheekily. "That's two more in our name book… and Eirika comes back here with her brother occasionally, though she doesn't let him have anything stronger than apple juice."

"… You wouldn't have ever met someone named Roy, would you?" the cloaked man said thoughtfully.

"We've gotten a few Roy's… what does he look like?"

"He has red hair, shorter than mine," he motioned towards his nearly shoulder-length hair, "and blue eyes that you could drown in."

"… Interesting. Hey, Popinjay—"

"It's _Robin_, and yeah… there was a Roy like that the other day."

"How old is he?" Marth asked, perking up suddenly.

"He's about seventeen. Came in here with a blonde guy with pointed ears the other day… that's the Link that Jay over there was talking about."

"Ah… I see."

"Question—why this interest in him?"

"You could say that I'm a very old friend of his." Becoming suddenly aware that perhaps he was divulging too much, he stopped speaking and silently downed the rest of the glass.

-----

Paying for the wine, Marth signed the bartenders' name book and left, his mind in turmoil. He'd found him! But… he was only a teenager, and not even legal yet… What were the odds of him believing his farfetched story? And this Link character… surely Roy would be more likely to be in a relationship with him rather than a total stranger!

Brushing a few stray locks of cobalt hair from his face, Marth pulled his hood back up and took off into the darkness of the night. He could think all he liked while he slept… for now, he was hungry.

* * *

Peach sat at the bar in the club, feeling the bass beat from the music reverberate through her body. Nursing her third drink, she surveyed the gyrating, grinding mass of bodies on the dance floor, and scowled darkly. 

"Something wrong, Peachie?" Daisy asked, noting her scowl from where she sat beside her.

"Nothing really, Daisy… it's just that we've done this enough times, hit enough clubs, and it's lost all its intrigue. I came here to have fun, but there's really nothing I want to do."

"Well, we could always go down to the dance floor."

"With who? I don't see any guys worth picking up around right now. They're all taken…"

"Well, a little birdie once told me that two freaking girls will attract a bit of attention… we could pick up a couple of dates that way." Daisy grinned mischievously.

"I don't really feel like it right now, Daisy… sorry."

"Oh, that's all right Peachie," the brunette replied, eyes twinkling. "Besides, there's someone new who just walked in the door—he's a bit of a looker, too. Now if only he'd take that bloody hood off…"

Looking towards the doorway of the club, Peach saw that Daisy was right indeed… the newcomer seemed fairly good-looking, even though he was wearing a midnight-blue cloak. "Hmm… maybe I'll go see if I can nab him. Catch you later, Daisy!"

"All right, Peachie. Later!"

-----

"Excuse me…. Would you like to come have a drink with me?" Peach asked. "You're by yourself too, aren't you?"

"Yes, I do suppose I am…" he murmured. After a bit of thought, he replied, "I don't see any harm in doing so. Thank you."

She led him to a table located in the corner, within Daisy's field of vision. "So… any preference?"

"Not really… I'm not the most familiar with club drinks."

"Ah… I see. Well, there's one called Sex on the Beach that you might like… I'll buy. Does that sound good?" She smiled, a hint of something predatory in her grin.

He appeared to completely miss the suggestion. "Thank you, miss… that sounds lovely."

Miss? But he didn't look more than five years older than her! Peach pushed the thought aside, dismissing the title as merely an odd habit. She bade the man to seat himself and went to order the drinks for both of them.

-----

Sipping at her drink, it occurred to her that they'd not even so much as introduced themselves. "I'm Peach," she told him, attempting to strike up a conversation.

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Peach," he replied. "I'm Marth."

"That's an interesting name… I don't think I've ever heard that one before."

"No less unique than Peach, one would think," Marth said, off-handedly. He fiddled with the turquoise-inlaid clasp that kept his cloak fastened. Pulling down his hood, he tossed his drink back.

"Touché." She thought for a moment, then made up her mind. "So… you want to go someplace, just the two of us?"

Marth blinked at the request. "Is that something one normally does, or did I accidentally turn on my _glamour_?"

She began to laugh. "Oh man… that's the best line I've heard for ages, Marth!" Calming down, she looked straight into his eyes and felt a wave of pure, utter lust wash over her. "No… I meant that we could go somewhere, to your place or mine, and have… quite a lot of fun," she purred, placing one of her gloved hands on his thigh. It sent a little thrill through her when he shivered slightly at the touch.

"All right…" Was it just her imagination, or had his voice suddenly become deep, husky—sexy? She didn't really care anyway… she just couldn't wait. Taking him by the hand, she led him out of the club.

* * *

He felt bad for leading her on like this, but he was hungry—and she was the most convenient meal he could find. She looked fairly healthy, and her throat was bared deliciously by her pink halter top. To everyone else it simply looked like he had just picked up a hot date or something similar… and it was perfect, really. 

Ducking into an alleyway, he looked into her eyes again and murmured, "I can't wait… I'm sorry."

She didn't reply, only crushing her mouth to his in a ravenous kiss. When he broke it and lapped at her throat, she tilted her chin up and offered him better access. For realism's sake, he slid a hand under her halter-top, which she eagerly led up to press against an ample breast.

"I'm sorry," he murmured against her throat, "this isn't going to go quite as you planned." Before she could clear her lust-hazed mind enough to ask what he meant, he sank a pair of gleaming white canines into a vein, and suckled hard at the blood that flowed from the punctures. Removing his hand from her breast, he brought it down to below her miniskirt and fingered her, telling himself mentally that she wouldn't resent him so much if she went out mid-orgasm.

"Ahh… Marth…" He increased the suction at her throat when Peach moaned helplessly, caught in the middle of the blending sensations of pain and pleasure.

-----

Hunger sated, he removed his fangs from her lifeless throat. Pulling out a handkerchief, he wiped his fingers and folded it neatly. He would have to get it washed later… but no matter. First, he had to clear the table.

Sketching a spell-circle in the air with a practiced hand, he etched the last line with a flourish, dotted the last rune, and gestured down at Peach's body. She was promptly consumed by a conflagration that left her nothing more than ashes in a second—which the wind picked up and carried away.

"May your spirit move quickly on," he murmured, pulling his hood back over his face to hide how his lips were now vividly red with traces of his bloody meal.

* * *

He woke with a start. _"Marth… My prince, how far you have fallen…"_ he whispered, not really knowing what he said—having spoken in the dead language of Altea. 

"Roy? Is something wrong?" Link asked from the bed across the room. Roy only raked a hand through his perpetually messy red hair and stared blankly out the window besides his own bed.

"… I just had a weird dream, that's all…" he muttered, as if half trying to convince himself.

"By the way, what was that you said?"

"Huh?" He turned his attention from the window to his blonde roommate. "You couldn't understand that?"

"Heck no… let's put it this way. You're me, and I'm you. Suppose I suddenly start spouting Ancient Hylian—"

"All right, all right… I get the picture." Roy scowled and made as if to throw his pillow at the Hylian.

Laughing, Link mock-dodged… and quickly sobered, remembering his original question. "So… what was it you said?"

"… It doesn't make sense anyway. Go back to sleep."

_'My prince, how far you have fallen… I only pray that you have not fallen so far that even love is lost to you…'_

_

* * *

_A/N: Well, I never really thought I'd do a vampire story. Go figure. --;; 

Anyway, for anyone confused, the _glamour_ was (I think) a particular kind of charm vampires can use that makes it quite easy for them to seduce a person. If there are any vampire story buffs out there that want to help me out/correct me, feel perfectly free to do so! Feedback is much appreciated from anyone, vampire buff or not, however. Thanks for reading, and no... it's not over. Not by a looong shot. XD


	2. A vision to obsess over

All right... here's the second chapter of this slow-moving fic. Let's see how this turns out... Standard disclaimers apply. Yaoi warning: Don't like? Don't read. For the rest of you, enjoy!

* * *

Having grappled with unusual insomnia the rest of the night since the dream, Roy growled mutedly and rolled out of bed. He could barely keep his eyelids open, and yet—the image of a midnight blue hood that overlaid cobalt hair, icy blue eyes, and crimson stained lips with shadow plagued him. Why would the man's image not dissipate like any ordinary dream? 

"Maybe because it was more than just a dream," Link mused aloud. He yawned widely and pushed back the covers on his bed. "Did you sleep at all after you woke up?"

Scowling, the redhead barely stifled a yawn. "No… the damn dream kept me up. Who the heck is this guy, and—" He yawned again, cutting off his tirade mid-sentence.

"It's probably too early for you to do any ranting. We could go out to that bar tonight—ow!" It was the blonde's turn to scowl, rubbing the pointed ear that Roy had just tweaked.

"Gotcha." With a laugh that was interrupted by another yawn, the redhead sprinted off to the bathroom with a playfully growling Hylian in hot pursuit.

* * *

_Blood on his lips—and the man drew his own back, breaking their impassioned kiss. "Who has granted you such charm, love? You are not of my kind—and yet something about you snares me far more securely than the strongest _glamour_ could…"_

_"I… don't know… who are you?" he asked timidly, the coppery tang of the red liquid spreading over his tongue. Something inside him shivered and hissed, and he felt himself grow warmer than he should. "I… gods… I need you…"_

_"I need you too, love… but I see you do not want me to turn you. No… it seems your desire runs a different course." Cold, pale fingers, long and elegantly tapered, drew slender trails down his suddenly bared torso… They trailed along the inside of his thighs, and when they reached up to caress the eager hardness between his legs Roy threw his head back. Running his left hand back through his own messy scarlet mop, he silently pleaded for more—_

—And heard Link knocking on the door of the bathroom. "Are you all right in there?"

The shower spray pounded down on his back and head, as it had for the entirety of the five minutes he had nodded off. It was surprising that he had remained on his feet, really… "I'm fine… I'll be out in a minute," he called.

---

"What was that all about?"

"Nothing… I just fell asleep in the shower." Roy decided to omit the details of the dream—unfortunately, the Hylian saw right through him.

"All right, spill… you dreamed about him, didn't you?"

It took a few minutes for the redhead to recover from the sputtering fit that his nearly choking on his coffee had given him. "Wh-WHAT?"

"Well, if he was on your mind all night, and then you fall asleep in the shower—it seems likely."

"Ha-ha… funny, Link."

As Link started the car, Roy hopped into the passenger seat—attempting to stifle another yawn. The coffee hadn't helped ease the insufferable weariness that plagued him, only inducing the activation of a spastic kind of energy—and even this would wear off eventually, he knew. It was just a good thing that his roommate took excellent notes, because he wasn't going to be able to stay awake—especially not in History of Swordplay, which for some reason the university was forcing them to take. It would be more fun to actually fight with swords, but since decent ones were quite expensive _and_ few and far between, they were forced to make do with only the history. What a drag…

* * *

"Roy, wake up."_ "Love, wake up."_

A hand shook him lightly, attempting to shake off the slumber the redhead had drifted into. "We're here." _"We're here."_

"Wha… what?" Roy murmured sleepily.

"Wake up, Roy, we're here." _"Wake up, love, we've arrived…"_

"… Marth?" Opening his eyes blearily, he saw a fairly tall young man with cobalt hair and icy blue eyes standing there, smiling at him. It seemed odd for him to be out in the light, though, especially with the unusually pointed canines that his smile revealed…

_"Come on… there will be plenty of time for sleeping later, love."_ "Come on, you idiot… there'll be plenty of time to sleep in class. You do that often enough anyway."

Blinking and rubbing his eyes, Roy found that the stranger he had seen standing before him had been naught more than a dream. In his place was Link, who had already gotten up from the driver's seat in the car and had spent a good deal of time attempting to wake him up so that they both could get to class on time.

"Look… Mr. Hand doesn't usually mind if you're asleep, as long as you don't just flunk his class. What he doesn't like, for some reason, is if someone's late—and if both of us are late, well—I'd say we'd have a bit of a problem, so come on."

"Nuuuhhh… fine…" Grumbling, Roy got out of the car, and tugged his jeans back up—he'd have to find that belt one day…

"By the way, is Marth your mystery fellow's name?" the Hylian asked.

"Wha—where did you get that from?" The redhead stared, his eyes wide.

"You said it while you were asleep. Anyway, let's go! We're going to be late." Dragging a hapless Roy behind him, Link sprinted off to the classroom.

* * *

_Once upon a time there was a prince of ice, whose icy blue eyes and fair visage enchanted those who gazed upon them. His cobalt hair was kept back by a frosted crystal circlet—so finely crafted that many believed that he wore a crown of ice itself. The jewel set within it was a brilliant, beautiful sapphire. His cold beauty inflamed even the most frigid of hearts with the cruelest kind of love—the unrequited kind. And yet he took no notice of his realm's people's daily heartbreak, for he occupied himself with official matters and ruled fairly. He did not notice that his life was redundant, empty, and lonely… for his heart was as cold as the ice he was named for._

_However, in another kingdom (equally fair to that ruled by the prince of ice) lived another prince—known as the prince of fire. His hair was red like an open hearth, and it was perhaps a little more than just a well-known secret that his mother had been a dragon herself. Though his eyes were blue like those of the prince of ice, they were warmer—like a clear, fathomless sea. His lively, fiery spirit and occasional hotheadedness clearly earned him the name, as well as his affinity with fire itself… and he possessed his own kind of beauty. He wore a blue and gold headband, and his zest for life shone in his eyes. He had the warm sort of appeal that seemed more brilliant than even that of the prince of ice, though it was less spoken of—and he did not break hearts. Instead, he brought the fire of passion, and hope…_

_It was one cloudy day that the prince of ice excused himself from his administrative duties (having finished settling a dispute between two families who had been feuding for exactly ten years) and took his favorite mare out for a ride. It was his father who had given her to him, after naming her Blizzard… but that had been a couple years before. Lost in his memory, he failed to notice another rider coming up besides him._

_"Greetings, fair sir!" The prince of fire said, his eyes twinkling with vibrant humor. The prince of ice failed to see what was so amusing, however, and replied coldly._

_"Hello… is there something you require?" Anyone else would have shivered upon hearing his icy tone, but the prince of fire simply laughed and tucked a loose lock of bright red hair behind his ear._

_"Not really… I myself am just out for a ride! It _is_ a rather lovely day for such an excursion, at that… certainly better than being trapped beneath mountains of paperwork back behind one desk or another."_

_"Paperwork is little bother if done promptly and in an organized matter. Only the fool who is lazy enough to let it accumulate suffers from it."_

_"Fair sir, you wound me… I am not so much a fool as one who loves life too much to spend it falling asleep over such things as petitions from a farmer who wishes for royal advantage over his rivals when dividing newly cleared ground. I would much rather fence, and ride, and sing… even the oldest sword has more life than mundane papers!"_

_"Pray tell… who are you, to so boldly address the prince of ice?"_

_"Ah, but no less bold are you than I… I am called the prince of fire," the red-haired rider said, brushing his bangs back to reveal his blue and gold coronet. "I see you are the prince who wears a circlet of ice—it's very fitting, and elegantly made. But tell me… how is it that you are so well-loved by your people, and yet so cold?"_

_"There are too many who find me lovely to look at, but I find no interest in them. When you grow up infatuating all who meet you, you become cold as ice to prevent yourself from becoming insane… so it is that it gives me my name. You cannot hurt it—mayhap you might crack it, but you cannot destroy it. You may melt it, but it will freeze back into form soon enough."_

_The prince of fire seemed to be lost in thought, and so the prince of ice turned his horse around to take his leave. It was time he returned to his papers, he thought._

_"Wait." The red-haired prince had snapped back to reality, and held out his hand._

_"What is it? If you suddenly confess that you too love me, I shall spur my mount into a gallop and leave you behind. I will have no more of it."_

_"Oh, fair prince… you are blind to the ways of life, are you not? When you yourself became like your namesake you shut everything out except the dull administrative work that you center your life around! Live, fair prince… it will not hurt you, only ease the pain of the aching hole you have cut into your own heart!" He made a sweeping gesture with his right hand, his left clutching the reins in a white-knuckled fist. "I know what it is like to be loved by your people… but hard work is perhaps the only way for me to earn such devotion. I am not blessed by your natural beauty, but I try to show my people what beauty I may have in my heart. _

"_Be gracious, accept your people's love! And they may love you more for it… if you make it clear you do not wish for young maidens throwing themselves at you in hopes that you will marry one of them, only tell them, and they may stop and content themselves with gazing from afar! Dear, fair prince… I wish you luck with your kingdom and your life. I will not tell you that I love you, not from your aversion to hearing such things, but because it is not true… but my wishes are earnest. May your people's happiness be more than just a beautiful dream." He turned his horse towards his kingdom and cantered away, leaving the cobalt-haired prince gazing after him… for the first time feeling a hole in his heart indeed._

_-----_

_So he changed. He began to be less cold, less unwilling to face those who showed such utter devotion towards him… and the people gradually learned that though he did not love them like they did him, he had grown kind about it. His beauty acquired a warmer touch, no longer so cruelly icy as it had once been. Eventually he gave up his crystal circlet for a strip of silver cloth, which he tied around his head in the same manner his circlet had been worn. People began to wonder what it was that had inspired such a change in him, for he began to take more breaks from his paperwork to walk through the streets and greet his subjects._

_It was months later that he learned the young prince of fire was none other than the young prince of his own kingdom's rival… and so it was that when his people wished to go to war he forbade it. He could not stand to have to take up arms and cut the young man down, for if he did he would be lost—he would have killed the source of the warmth that he had just introduced into his life, melting away part of his ice-cold shell…_

_He was exiled… his people loved him, but they knew that it was a kind of love that faded once he was out of sight. And so the prince of ice wandered, letting the love he had never realized he'd known fade from thought—from memory._

_-----_

_It was just before dawn, after a sleepless night spent on the leafy floor of a forest, that the prince of ice heard the clashing of steel against steel. What was it? He saw soon enough as he crept quietly to the edge of a clearing, well-practiced in remaining near silent after what seemed roughly a month spent in the woods._

_A ravaged battlefield lay bare to his eyes, the moaning wounded and silent dead scattered over the ground like so many rag dolls. And there… there was the vibrant prince of fire himself, leaning on his sword and panting for breath. Around him lay the bodies of soldiers from the former prince's kingdom, all gravely wounded and some dead._

_Despite the plain sense that screamed at him not to do so, the cobalt-haired ex-prince walked onto the battlefield. Stopping outside of the prince of fire's sword reach, he raised his hands, showing he was unarmed._

"… _Your Highness…" It was one of the soldiers the prince of fire had wounded, his injury (though no less grave) slower to kill than the fatal blows others had suffered—he had not yet succumbed to it. "What… what are you doing here? I thought you were gone…"_

"… _Don't speak. It's all right… just rest. I will take care of things, and perhaps disappear again. I have been sentenced to wander for the rest of my life, and so I shall…" The former prince of ice smiled gently, kneeling besides the soldier. "He is a beautiful, deadly man, the prince of fire… do you not agree?"_

_But the man could not hear him, having finally given in to Death's silent summons. The ex-prince sighed and closed the man's eyes with a careful hand, standing up again._

"… _I have not seen you for a very long time. Perhaps I remember you too well… because you were the first to tell me that you did not love me." The cobalt-haired exile smiled wistfully. "I wish that we were still back in those days. I could simply think about you and nothing would come of it… but in this now war-torn time, I wished to forbid my kingdom from going to war—and I was exiled. I wonder who my usurper was… not that I hold any grudge against him for the loss of my rank."_

"_Ah… fair sir, you have returned. Are you here to finish the work your soldiers could not?" The prince of fire was tense, tired… unable to articulate as beautifully as he once did, that time they had met on horseback. "I must warn you that I care little whether you have a weapon or not. Perhaps you are a wielder of magic?"_

"_I did not come here with the intention to fight with you… merely to talk."_

"_Then you must leave this place… it is not a place for the unarmed or the weak." He was wounded, the exile noted… the prince bore some cuts where he had not been fast enough to completely dodge a blade, and he continually adjusted his grip on his sword for the blood that made the hilt slick and slippery._

"_I came to speak with you."_

"_I cannot speak with you right no—Hold your fire!" the prince shouted to an archer. But by the time the command reached his ears, it was too late. He had already loosed an arrow… which sank its pointed head into the exiled prince's shoulder._

_Grimacing, the exiled prince of ice pulled out the arrow with a quiet hiss of pain and laid it on the ground. "I came to speak with you… and then I will leave. You may loose your men against me, and kill me if you do not wish to speak with me. I will accept my death calmly, and perhaps with a little bit of masochistic joy if I were to die at your hands. You said yourself that if you were to tell me that you loved me, it would be a lie. But it would not be a lie if I were to tell you that I love you…"_

_The red-haired prince's eyes widened. His grip on his sword slackened slightly, and it slipped through blood-covered fingers to land on the ground. "You… fair sir, please tell me you jest. You cannot possibly love me… we have spoken only once!"_

"_If I jest, then my happiness is naught but a beautiful dream… and perhaps it seems that way, but I do not. I know there is a soldier behind me, with his sword raised to cut me down… but I am all too pleased to die at your feet. My wish has been fulfilled… what more reason is there to live?" He walked forward two paces, until he stood in front of the prince of fire—close enough that if the latter should wish, he might have run him through, and close enough that if he reached forward he could touch him._

_-----_

_The soldier who indeed stood behind the exiled prince raising a sword found himself meeting a sharp look from the prince of fire. "Your Highness? What shall I do with him?" he asked, puzzled._

"… _Let him live."_

"_Pardon, your Highness?" The soldier was definitely puzzled now. They had the leader of the opposite side within sword's reach, and yet the prince was ordering that he be spared?_

"_I believe I have already made myself clear. Let him live."_

_The exiled prince of ice murmured something._

"_Did you say something, fair sir?"_

"… _Why?"_

"_Why did I order him to spare your life? Why not? Do you wish for death?"_

"… _I wonder if there is reason to live when you know that the only person you have given your heart away to does not wish to give you his."_

_The red-haired prince was silent for a little while. "… That day we met… well… I did not tell the truth when I said that. I… did fall for you at first sight. And yet now that you are so much less cold, less icily alluring… I find myself drawn to you even further, like a moth to a candle's flame. I do not wish for you to die—will that be reason enough?" He picked up his sword and sheathed it, offering his less blood-spattered hand to the exiled prince of ice. _

"… _Yes." Clasping the prince's hand in his own, the cobalt-haired ex-prince smiled, a warm light in his once-cold eyes. "Thank you…"_

_And the battlefield grew still and quiet as the two princes shared their first kiss.

* * *

_

"Reading that one, eh?" Link grinned at Roy and jabbed him playfully in the side with a couple fingers. "Something tells me you're not too well suited to the single life. Bemoaning bachelor-hood already?"

"It's familiar… too familiar. I know I've never read this story before, and yet I can see the pictures in the pages of an old book… one I've never seen in my life." The redhead wet his lips and stared down at the pages of the storybook.

"Link, Roy… are you two paying attention at ALL?"

"Yes, sir…" both replied, a slightly sour expression on their faces. It was rare that Dr. Mewtwo would substitute for any of the professors, but the days he did… well, those were the days when it was nigh impossible for anyone to get away with the slightest thing, since he always knew who did it. Reading in class as opposed to paying attention was not generally too frowned upon, but in Dr. Mewtwo's eyes it apparently merited public admonishment. The neatly suited psychic Pokémon was known to be more of a stickler than most of the other professors, after all.

"Very good… Roy, I would like to speak with you after class." Some ten seats to the left of Link, a snicker came that sounded suspiciously like Ganondorf. Roy flinched, although he was careful to make sure that nobody besides Link could possibly notice. He was a sophomore at Nintendo University, he could handle it… it was no big deal. If not for the nagging fear that Dr. Mewtwo had read his mind (and discovered why he was busily immersing himself in such things as a book of old tales claimed to be from the lost kingdom of Altea), he would have simply smirked at the professor and made an appropriately politely witty-and-disrespectful comment. As it was, there was nothing for him to do… only pray that this discussion would not be of the embarrassingly personal type, as Dr. Mewtwo was infamous for such.

When the class was dismissed, Link clapped Roy on the back. "I wish you luck," he told him, gravely… then laughed. "You'll be all right. Dr. Mewtwo works as a therapist outside of the university, and he's actually pretty good… if it's something personal he wants to discuss, he'll try not to just drop it on your head like a bombshell."

"… Thanks. You're really helpful, you know that?" Roy scowled, stifling another yawn. The Hylian laughed again and waved, taking off.

"I'll be waiting by the car, all right? Don't take too long!"

-----

"Sir, what was it that you wanted to talk to me about?" The redhead asked, his voice quavering slightly (much to his own disgust. He had not been afraid of a teacher for years, why should he start again with this one?)

"… I only wish to warn you not to go searching for the man who occupies your thoughts as of the present. I do not know what your relationship is between the two of you, but it is better if you did not know where he was." Dr. Mewtwo's voice was stern, his expression honest. Perhaps he was only trying to look out for Roy, but…

"Sir… why did you read my mind? And I don't even know this guy. I don't know why I'm dreaming about him… did you honestly believe that I would try chasing after him when the only place I've ever seen him was the landscape of my dreams? I mean… how can he possibly be real?"

It was not completely unheard of that Dr. Mewtwo at times read his students' minds, precisely the reason why no one at the university ever really acted up. They knew that if they came within the reach of his mind, _he _would soon know what it was they had done… whether it was serious or not. "He is quite real, actually. And I simply read your mind to determine why you were so distracted… although coincidentally the young prince of ice from that story you found more fascinating than my lecture bears a striking resemblance to this mystery man whom you've decided is not real, despite his image being so deeply ingrained into your mind that you could pick him out from a crowd of a thousand."

"… Sir, why do you not want me to find him?"

"Is there any reason why you wish to find him, Roy?" The psychic Pokémon seemed puzzled.

"… He says that he loves me."

Dr. Mewtwo's eyes widened. "… I see. That is a strange thing, indeed… many of us who dabble into these things claim that vampires cannot love, that they only feel lust and hunger. I suggest you do not search for him, no matter what it is he says to you… it is better to be safe than sorry. Now, I believe your friend is waiting for you…" He waved a paw in a dismissing gesture. Roy didn't have to be told twice—he'd forgone the usual good-bye and fled.

* * *

A/N: And that's that. Next chapter: What's going on over on Marth's side of this whole mess? And... I'm sorry. I couldn't help it, but I decided to make Mewtwo a substitute professor _and_ a therapist. Crazy stuff, I know. See you next time! 


	3. An all too abrupt meeting

Everything was just as he remembered it… although gone to ruins under the bruising hand of Time. It was here that he'd watched his lover cry over his still body, the teardrops as painful as holy water… but now he was old enough that the latter would not harm him as much as it had before. The fire that had illuminated his face no longer burned, extinguished five hundred years before… all that was left was the charred remains of the buildings that had further rotted over the centuries until little but dust remained. There were so many records destroyed, so much lost…

Hardin's army had been ruthless, merciless… the men burned, pillaged, raped, killed, and still they were not satisfied—still their king was not satisfied! He had not stopped until all of Altea's people had died or fled, and many did not escape unharmed… there were countless who could not, and so many others had fought to the death to buy their friends and family enough time to escape.

Marth clenched a fist hard enough that his nails cut into his palm, drawing blood. Hardin was long since dead… and as much as he wanted to exact his vengeance, he could not do so to the man's blameless descendants. To do so would make him equally despicable… no, he could only move on, and try to find a semblance of peace in his strange not-life.

The castle he resided in had been abandoned for three hundred years—he'd been awake since then, and watched the years crawl by. He could almost liken time's passage to watching a mountain slowly wear away to a pebble—he could no longer recall once crystal-clear memories of a spring day, where he and his young love had seen all the signs of life slowly became more and more evident in what had been before a cold, lifeless meadow covered in melting snow. They had donned a haze woven by the sly fingers of Time and become fuzzy, indistinct shapes in the background of his mind… it saddened him, but he could dwell on it for only a short time before the shade of a young servant timidly asked him if he wished to have a little red wine.

The boy was another of the plethora of ghostly servants who haunted the decrepit castle in which he slept, away from the searing rays of the sun. They had all met their ends at the hands of Hardin's people, and still they remained—their only wish seemed to be to serve their prince as well as possible, even after death. Some still possessed bodies that wore away more each day, little more than powdery fragments of bone held together by a spirit that refused to move on.

"No, Rociel… that is all right. Perhaps I shall have some later," Marth told the boy absently. This one bore a bloody gash across his chest, one that he knew had pierced far enough so as to slice his heart in half. He had tried to stop some soldiers from entering the prince's bedchambers (where his body had lain temporarily in repose) and had died for his efforts—he had never been well-trained with a sword, after all. The men had thought the prince nothing more than a corpse, and so never thought that the newly turned vampire could do them any harm. They paid dearly for killing Rociel… they never made it out of the room, Marth having lost himself so far to his thirst that he could not even remember his own name.

And yet… as much as he felt no wish to sleep, knowing that the young man he'd given his heart away to so long ago was out beyond the walls of the castle… dawn was approaching. If he ventured out into the light, he would not die—no, but it would be hellishly painful. He would not go out for a search that could prove completely fruitless—wait, was that someone probing through his mind? Marth hastily threw up a barrier, knowing that whoever it was had already found him out. He had been careless… he could only hope that his carelessness would not cost him his existence.

* * *

_  
Roy slept, unaware, in an automobile driven by his blonde roommate… who looked suspiciously like the hero of legend from the land called Hyrule. Curious indeed… Marth smiled faintly as he noticed that the redhead still curled up in much the same manner he had before their separation those long centuries back… but he was so young. Perhaps he was simply reborn many times, something akin to the phenomena that kept his servants from moving on… he would have to look into it._

_But there was the roommate, attempting to wake the sleeping youth—and to no avail, at that. "Feh… some dream that must have been, to keep you up all night. Why'd you have to choose _now_ to sleep like a log?" The young man muttered a curse under his breath as he shook the redhead again. "Come on, you idiot, wake up."_

_Roy did not stir the slightest, save to mumble and turn over in the seat. The prince smiled unconsciously… it had been so long since he'd seen his love so relaxed. The blonde continued to try to wake him, and then the red-haired teenager finally stirred._

_Oddly enough, what the young man with pointed ears said to try to wake him up coincided eerily with a similar exchange (one-sided as it had been) centuries before. Marth shivered as he remembered that he had numerous times been in the young man's shoes, trying to awaken Roy held fast in the depths of sleep._

_"… Marth?" The prince froze, his expression changing into one of shock. Surely… no, this was a dream! How could he possibly see him? And indeed… it was not him in the sleepy teenager's vision. Moments later the redhead blinked, his eyes focusing properly upon his roommate._

_The prince had seen enough. He closed his eyes and willed himself further into sleep, his perception of the place fading just as Roy learned his name._

_-----_

It was twilight when he woke up again. For the moments before the day completed its metamorphosis, the sky blazed strange colors. Now was the time of magic, when arcane strength began to wax to its fullest—now was the time of darkness. The sun no longer forbade the creatures that shunned it from wandering about, and for Marth it was merely the start of another bedtime spent telling stories. He donned his cloak and fastened its clasp, and took off—it was time to visit the children again.

Matron Annika greeted him at the door with a strained expression. "Hello, Marth."

"Good evening, madam." He bowed, a little more politely than usual. Her face did not lighten in the slightest, not even when he pulled back the hood of his cloak and smiled cheerfully at her. Perhaps it was a little cheeky of him to do so, but Matron Annika seemed agitated enough that a smile could do some good—though it hardly made a difference.

"There was a young man who came by today—he used to be one of the older boys that you told stories to when you first started coming here, a couple years back. He… he was telling me that he saw you in the red light district a few days in a row. Is this true? Is that what your 'night job' is? Tell me!" She looked down at the floor. "I never thought you'd be the disreputable type, what with your damned politeness, but… I can't have you coming here anymore if you work there. That's not the kind of man I want the children to be associating with. Besides, I should have known something was up—I have never met any other man as pretty as you are."

Marth heaved a sigh. There were some drawbacks to the 'I have a night job' excuse—he'd learned that the first time someone came to the wrong conclusions about his nocturnal lifestyle. "Madam, I assure you… I am not so desperate for coin that I would sell my body. I do not buy the bodies of others, for the matter—I had simply heard of a number of places that sold interesting drinks and thought to investigate. I am also quite human, though I am careful that I do not allow lust to govern my thoughts or actions." His smile became a little crooked. "It _is_ flattering that you would consider me pretty… perhaps I shall visit disguised as a woman on All Hallows' Eve and read the children whimsical stories about friendly ghosts who lose their way and make some friends in the corporeal world."

"… Very well. I'll take your word… but if you've lied to me, by the gods I'll cast you out on your ear and forbid the children to speak to you ever again!" The woman gave the prince a stern look and invited him inside.

Stepping forward into the orphanage, Marth chuckled quietly. "Then I shall be sure not to anger you, for fear of such consequences… I enjoy the children's company very much, and I doubt I shall have much to do with this old book of stories without them."

-----

"_… And he ran, and ran—and still the lights pursued him, still the sharp clatter of footsteps and hooves clanging on the cobblestones rang painfully loud in his ears. Still his escape seemed impossible, and the fires that burned in the street lanterns blinded him to the stars, drowned out the songs of the sky. He howled his distress to the sky above, and only a weakened whisper from the moon gave reply._

"_But lo! There it was… the gate that took him outside the city of thorns and malice, off of the streets that sliced into the pads of his paws with razor edges and away from the knives and madness of the men who pursued him. They had a weapon that he could not fight, as well—a long stick that boomed and spouted fire, that sent jolts of white-hot pain searing up his nerves when the little things that they fired hit him. There was the blood, leaking from a new wound, and still he ran—he could taste the air, taste the freedom that was only yards away now!_

"_The darkness was waiting to spirit him to safety—away from the men's weapons and their fear of him. He was a wild soul… the city did not suit him. It would not let him live, it sought to change him, break him—destroy him. But he ran from it, and wished only to see the stars again, cursing the curiosity that had brought him so far from his pack, so far from home… his curiosity had been promptly squashed by the noise, the foul odors, the reek of chaos and discordant harmony. He wanted to go back to the familiarity of the dark forest… and so he ran._

"_And there it was! As he ran, the stars began to sing again— he could look up and see them, bright flowers in the sky, each singing a different piece of a harmonious weave. The moon's calm whispers became stronger, the sky came to life—it was no longer strangled by Man's strange clouds that spewed from imposing smokestacks. He felt the life humming in the very earth, even as the abused pads of his paws felt better for running ground that was not laid with cobbles._

"_And his pack had found him again, following his scent, and his mate came to him to nuzzle his neck. He was home again, and as they loped off into the night, the moon's whispers grew to a comforting, familiar murmur. No man would catch them tonight._"

"And that is the tale of the wolf who ran until he could see the stars." Marth closed the book, and smiled at the children. "Time for bed, children…"

The orphans refused to budge. "Please, mister… another story?"

"It's almost eleven-thirty! Matron will skin me alive if I keep you awake any longer. I'm sorry… how about telling me which story you want to hear tomorrow?"

For a moment, no one spoke—then, all the children began suggesting tales—some were older, some were newer, and some Marth had not even heard of. At last, it was one young boy with an older look in his strangely familiar eyes that suggested something that everyone agreed upon—though it was far beyond what the prince had been expecting.

"Could you tell us about Altea tomorrow? What was it like when it still lived?" The boy's voice was like his own, Marth thought, when he had been that age. How strange it was that after so long he had finally met a child who seemed to share his attributes…

"… I don't see why not. Very well, tomorrow shall be a tale of Altea in its heyday." The children all cheered, and as he ushered them off to bed the prince could not help his indulgent smile. Perhaps this was what fatherhood might have been like—though he would never know. After all, he was no longer capable of fathering a child, and had no such interest in women when he'd still been able to do so.

-----

He'd fed the night before—he wouldn't need blood for a good while. Having little else to do, Marth thought to stop by the bar he'd walked into the previous night. Greeting Jay and Robin with a casual wave, he froze in his tracks as he noticed a young red-haired man sitting over at a corner table with a drink. "… Impossible," he breathed. 

"What's so impossible, Marth?" Unfortunately Jay had heard him, even over the hum of the bar's several simultaneous conversations.

"… It's nothing. Nothing at all…" the cobalt-haired man murmured, tugging his cloak a little tighter around himself.

* * *

Roy scowled down at his glass of apple juice. It was usually a subject of much hilarity for Link, who was old enough to drink… but tonight the Hylian was preoccupied with flirting with the Sheikah who had an established routine here. 

Sheik would come in, order a scotch, and make it last exactly an hour and a half every single night. He would also suffer the persistant begging of the bartenders to sign the name book, because he'd never done so despite having frequented the bar for six months now. And Link was quite taken with him, somehow drawing what appeared to be a smile from under the Sheikah's mask (no one could really tell, because he never took it off.) The young man's always seemed to wear the same form-fitted outfit every day, leaving Roy to marvel at how such a waif-like figure could carry enough strength to beat up anyone who made unwelcome advances towards him. Link never seemed to incur the Sheikah's wrath, though… the redhead grinned at the thought. Maybe Sheik also liked the Hylian…

He returned his eyes to his glass of apple juice. Sipping at it listlessly, he noticed someone wearing a midnight-blue cloak walk through the door, and set the glass down before he dropped it. Surely this wasn't… no. That wasn't possible—people from dreams weren't _real_! And the cloaked figure seemed to have the same thought, his greeting to the bartenders cut off by a whispered word. Quickly turning to face the glass again, the redhead glared at it. "I really hope this is just juice, because otherwise I'm having some sort of drunken hallucination."

"Nope, you're quite sober," came a cheery reply. Link stood next to him, latched firmly onto the Sheikah's arm. "We're going to go down to the pier… wanna come?"

"Who said anything about the pier? I thought you said you'd show me the old Hylian texts you have stockpiled in your room," Sheik chided him. It was clear that both were a little tipsy, if the slight slur in both of their voices was any indication.

Roy opened his mouth to scold both of them, and was promptly interrupted by Robin. "Here you go," the bartender told him, setting a glass of red wine down in front of him.

"B-but I'm not old enough to drink… and I didn't order any wine!" he stammered.

"Don't tell me that. Complements of the fellow over there," Robin told him, gesturing at the somewhat dark table at which the cloaked man sat. His hood was still up, although he seemed to be debating whether to pull it down or not. "I believe his name's Marth… if you like, you can go talk to him. Maybe say thank you or something—that's always a good way to start in this kind of situation."

The redhead stared at him, nonplussed. "Why are you telling me all of that?"

The bartender winked at him. "I can tell you're not used to having people send you drinks. Go on, talk to him. He's a pretty decent guy… he was here yesterday too, and he's quite polite."

-----

Hesitantly, Roy picked up the glass of wine and walked over to Marth's table. "Um… thank you for the drink, but I'm not old enough for wine…" Why was he suddenly feeling so timid? It shouldn't be that hard…

"Hmm… I suppose I should have sent you something easier on the palate, then… do you like cider?" His voice was so familiar that Roy reeled for a second, in shock. Marth took the glass from him and set it down on the table before helping him into a chair.

"I… I know you from somewhere. I dreamed about you… how are you real? How is it that you're here in front of me? I thought you were just a figment of my imagination!" _I suggest you do not search for him_, repeated Dr. Mewtwo, in his thoughts. _It is better to be safe than sorry. Vampires cannot love…_

The cloaked man smiled. "I would certainly hope that I am real. It's a long story, but I've been looking for you. Although I do suppose it is rude of me to be sitting here talking to you under the cover of my cloak…" He pulled back his hood, and Roy's eyes widened before he slumped over in a dead faint. "… Oh no. This will require a lot of explanation." Marth sighed, and resigned himself to wait until the teenager woke up again. Perhaps it was best, as well…some of the things that had been simply part of a courtship ritual in Altea's day were packaged now into the category of simple lechery. If he wanted Roy back, he would have to change his tactics.

* * *

A/N: Ehehehe... Hikaru here. It's been a little while, I guess... I'm sorry. Life's been rather unpredictable, and as a result I'm not exactly writing as much as I used to. I should also be working on a different story, but my muse for this one seems much more inclined to proficiency. It's very strange. Anyway, feedback is greatly appreciated (really! Even though I've been so slow to reply to reviews... forgive me, my lovely reviewers!) 


	4. A sudden change of heart

Uh... hey everyone. Standard disclaimer as usual--all SSBM characters belong not to me, but to Nintendo way over yonder! **points to a big sign reading "Nintendo"**. Anyway, uh... for those of you who have stayed with this story, updating as infrequently as it has been... thank you! For everyone else just coming aboard... well, thanks for reading anyway. xD You all get cookies.

Now, on to the story!

_

* * *

The clashing of steel blades echoed through the dark courtyard as a prince dueled to keep his crown. The other, a man of some years older than him, smiled nastily as he easily parried the prince's thrusts and returned the blows that never landed with perfect, unnerving ease._

_They danced a deadly tango, sword points flickering silver through the air. The prince's courtesans and his challenger's followers watched with bated breath as their leaders battled, each unwilling to yield to the other. But slowly, slowly—the prince tired, and soon he found himself beginning to give ground. He could only push himself harder, ignoring the sense of impending defeat growing like a fungus within his heart. He could not lose his kingdom in a duel! If the man could pin him, he would force him to watch as his kingdom was destroyed in its vulnerability, its leader unable to lift a finger in assistance! But the kingdom was not his to dispose of unless the prince himself abdicated the throne to him, giving him a glimmer of hope. There had to be a way to defeat the man…_

_And yet… slowly, but surely, the challenger forced the prince backwards. When at last he was pinned to the wall, the man's sword point pricking his throat, he glared his defiance at the man. "I shall not lose my people to the likes of you!" There was a sudden glint of unnaturally long, pointed canines—but the prince did not bother to wonder why. He thrust his neck into the sword, severing his jugular vein and destroying his windpipe. His eyes laughed mockingly at the challenger, who for the first time looked vexed._

_But rest would not be given to him. The man bit down on the prince's throat, and drank down the blood that flowed freely from the gash. "You shall not escape so easily, young noble—no, especially not when you are so fair. What a fool I would be to allow such a prize to slip through my fingers!"_

_As he drained the blood from the dying prince's body, the man smirked and made a small cut in his wrist. Holding it over the prince's mouth, he kept the blood flowing in until the prince swallowed—and promptly latched onto the bleeding limb, suckling at the blood in a desperate frenzy._

_"What… what have you done to our prince?" several courtesans cried, seeing this sudden change in him. But at that moment the prince's eyes, wild and a colder blue than ever before, locked onto them._

_"Go, my precious new pet… feed on them, savor them as you would your fine banquets in your days of human life. Now you are mine, and you may find that betrayal seasons blood ever so well… so drink until your withering heart can take no more. This is your new pantry."_

_Sunrise never came. The smoke billowing up through the various chimneys of the castle obscured the sky—smoke from the corpses sucked dry of blood, burned like so many logs. A prince who had become something else entirely howled his empty bloodlust to the clouds.

* * *

_

Marth woke with an unintelligible howl, like something had just rent his heart in two. Scrabbling wildly at the covers over his face, he sat bolt upright, a hand over his heart. It didn't actually beat, but… it was there. It was something to remind him that he'd been human once, that he knew emotion, knew what it was to love. Though a curtained window he could see that the sun was setting, its last dying rays enough to make him squint with a bit of discomfort.

"Are… are you all right?" Roy stood besides the bed, his expression hovering between nervousness and fear. The light of the sunset streaked his features with golden highlights through the mere crack that the curtains had been opened, giving him an earthly but divine appearance.

Sighing, and turning his back upon the window, Marth smiled faintly. "Yes. Thank you, love." _What are you doing? You'll frighten him away, and then what?_ A voice in his head railed. Ignoring it, he stood and arranged his clothing so that he did not appear quite as rumpled. "I apologize for… my outburst. It has been a while since I have had a dream so unsettling. Have you eaten?"

"I… yeah. I picked up a sandwich on the way back here from the university. Link's gone out with Sheik, so… I thought maybe I would come back and see if you were still here…" The redhead trailed off, his voice seeming to stick in his throat.

Turning to face Roy (and noting that the sun had almost entirely sunk below the horizon), the vampire reached out a pale hand and was tempted to caress the teenager's face. Figuring that his intentions would be misinterpreted, he chose to set it on the redhead's shoulder. "I don't usually move about during the day," he told him with a wry grin. "If you leave me someplace at dawn, it's almost a guarantee that I'll still be there at nightfall. But… I'm happy that you wanted to see me. It's been too long, Roy." Unable to stop himself, he gave the teenager a light hug. Catching himself before he tried to kiss him, Marth pulled away and located his cloak hanging on a peg near the room's door.

-----

What had the man meant? Roy mulled his words over, unable to come to any logical conclusion no matter how many angles he looked at it from. 'It's been too long, Roy.' Marth's voice echoed in his mind, soothing and hauntingly familiar. Where… where had he met this man before the dreams started? Where?

"I bought you a can of soda, too," he heard himself mutter. The older man paused, hands frozen where they had been fastening the clasp of his cloak.

"That was very thoughtful of you. Thank you," Marth replied, a more relaxed smile settling itself onto his face. "Perhaps this is forward of me, but do you have any plans for tonight? There is a place I go every night, and I had wondered whether you would like to come with me…"

Somewhere he went every night? What business could a man… no, a _vampire_… have with visiting a specific location every night? Unless… "You're… you're not going to take me to see yo—a tomb, are you?" Roy caught himself just in time. There didn't seem a reason to reveal that he knew what the man was, after all…

"A tomb? Heavens forbid, no! It's a place where the lives of children have the potential to take a turn for the better… so to speak." Marth wore such a gentle smile on his face that the redhead could not bring himself to mistrust him.

"… Okay. I'll go with you… if that's all right with you…"

* * *

Matron Annika opened the door to find Marth and a young man with red hair and strikingly blue eyes standing on the orphanage doorstep. Her face was lined with worry, her warm green eyes dull with fatigue. "Come in, Marth… I see you've brought a friend. The children will surely appreciate your company, especially after what has happened…" She wrung her hands with what meager nervous energy she had left. 

"Please, tell me… did something happen to the children?"

Roy looked around. Something about the place seemed very familiar to him—and then he noticed the old, weighty tome tucked under Marth's arm. Now it all made sense… this was the orphanage where the man—vampire—had read stories to children in his dream!

The cobalt-haired man took no notice of the sudden, stricken expression that flickered onto Roy's face, far too busy inquiring about Matron Annika's distress. He saw only a flash of red hair as his companion slipped out the way he had come, away from the place and its horrible familiarity. What had those dreams meant? Why… why had he dreamt of performing such lewd acts with a man he hardly even knew? It made so little sense that Roy could only lean against the wall and fight his sudden nausea.

"I see… all right. Is it all right for me to go to their room to read today?" Marth asked.

"Just don't let the other children get sick. They all must go to bed before ten, which means that no matter how much cajoling they do they may not hear any more stories after that time." She mock-scowled and patted Marth on the back hard, pushing him forward a step.

"Your wish is my command, madame," he replied jovially. "By the way, I'd like to introduce you to my frie—" He looked around, and saw too late that Roy was gone. "Excuse me," he murmured, setting the book down on a table. Ignoring Matron Annika's startled cry as he did so, he ran out the door and looked for the younger man. "Roy?"

----------

Roy could hear Marth calling him, sounding remarkably concerned for a vampire. There was even the appropriate note of concern in his voice, something he thought that emotionless beings could not pull off. Apparently, this one could.

It was likely the place itself that had spooked him, he thought. After all, here was the place that provided one end of Marth's behavioral spectrum. Here he was fatherly—in the club district where he'd fed upon a young woman, he'd been predatory. Which one was the real Marth? He didn't want to find out. Flattening himself against the wall, he cast a quick glimpse around to find possible escape routes. First right, then left… there was a semi-darkened alley cutting around an apartment complex nearby. If he could get there without attracting Marth's attention, he could leave and the vampire would only know that he'd disappeared.

"Roy?"

"Wha—oh fuck." Marth had somehow stolen up to him while he was thinking how to escape him, and now stood a mere yard away. "How the hell did you find me?" Roy demanded.

"It was not hard. It seemed as if you had left a trail for me."

Trail of what, Roy wanted to ask. Trail of fear, trail of confusion, trail of… perhaps even hatred? He wanted to ask if the vampire typically made it habitual to stalk young men with red hair like his. He wanted to scream his frustration at his inability to understand what it was he felt around the vampire so loudly that he lost his voice for a week. He didn't want to deal with it. And yet—he had to say _something._

"I left no trail for you," he informed him coldly. "Perhaps you are suffering from delusion. Do vampires ever become delusional? Whatever it is, you are imagining it and offering such a pitiful explanation as a mere excuse for your stalker-like habits. Please refrain from doing so in the future."

Marth opened his mouth, as if to say something, and then closed it. "Very well then," he murmured, as if in defeat. "I will leave you alone if that is what you desire. Please do inform me next time you do not wish to accompany me someplace… I had no intention of making you feel as if I was shackling you to myself." Roy blinked, and he was gone. The night seemed colder now, with the vampire's absence… though one would think that a blood-sucking monster would hardly be good company.

He needed to talk to Dr. Mewtwo again. Maybe he would know something about this…

--------------

Back at the orphanage, Matron Annika looked up as Marth reentered. He was alone, his eyes downcast and the feeling that something hadn't quite gone right pervading the air around him.

"Weren't you going to introduce me to your friend?" she asked, gently.

"… He had something to do that he'd forgotten about before accompanying me here," the cloaked man replied. He smiled, but it seemed strained.

"The children have all gone to bed," she told him. "Perhaps… perhaps you could come back tomorrow?"

"I'm not sure that I will… you are welcome to keep the book, however." He gestured at the tome that still lay on the table. "It has every story I've ever heard in it. Some of them are mine, but all the rest… they were ours—no, his. There are stories that the children should not hear yet, but… it is like a small library. You are welcome to read the book to the children, and if I am still around I will come back and read to them again some day." Matron Annika frowned at this last comment, but Marth could not see it. His eyes were fixed upon the book, as if engraving its appearance into his memory one last time.

For a time neither of the two said anything, until at last the young boy with blue hair and eyes much like Marth's own shuffled downstairs in search of a glass of milk to help him sleep. As the two adults were silent, he did not dare venture forth towards the kitchen, as without conversation to occupy them he had no hope of sneaking by. But there was no escaping the exceptional night vision of a vampire, and Marth spotted him quickly enough.

"Come out, little one. What's wrong?" he asked.

"… couldn't sleep. I was going to get some milk," the boy told him, walking out into the Matron's sight hesitantly.

"Well then… let's get you that milk and send you back up to bed. We don't want you to get sick now, so you need your sleep." The man smiled kindly, ruffling the boy's hair in a fatherly manner.

On the way back to the staircase, a milk mustache adorning his upper lip, the boy asked, "Is it true that you're not coming back, Mister? I heard you and Matron talking, and… is it really true?"

Marth froze, wondering what to say. He could not lie and say that such a thing was preposterous, but… he couldn't simply tell him that he wasn't coming back either. At last he settled on something in between. "I don't know, little one. I just have some things to do, and I'll come back sometime. I just don't know when."

The boy seemed to take his words in stride, and nodding sagely (a rather comically grave gesture for a child at the tender age of eight) he went back up to bed, falling asleep as soon as his head touched his pillow.

Pulling his hood up, Marth nodded his farewell to Matron Annika and walked out through the door, into the night. Despite the fact that he'd fed only two nights previous, his hunger throbbed maddeningly in his stilled heart. He ignored it, though... all he wanted to do was lock himself inside his chambers and sleep so deeply that he was unable to hear the fell whispers tugging at the frayed remains of his human self.

Perhaps it was time to pay a visit to an old friend.

* * *

A/N: Er... yes. Cliffhanger much, Hikaru? Sorry, folks. I actually have to figure out where this will go after this, but... uh... you can expect at least two more chapters before it's all done. Meanwhile, I have to find my Roy muse and smack some sense into him... he's being kinda... eh... well, insufferable to say the least. --;; Anyway, see you next time!  



	5. A change of perspective, and a warning

Hey, people. Sorry to leave this thing un-updated for so long. For those of you thinking that the two boys in question are going to get hot and sweaty this chapter--sorry to disappoint, but that doesn't play in _quite_ yet. You'll see it soon enough, so... dear Loretta, whose anonymous review left not even an email--in the meantime I might direct you over to a fanfiction site called Yaoiville, where the boys can (and usually do, at that) go at it like bunnies, to put it simply. The M rating was just so I had leeway to sprinkle bits and pieces of citrus here and there and not get in trouble.

Anyway. Standard warnings and disclaimers apply, the latter being extended to essentially all the Pokemon I've shoved in there. Also--plot's starting to pick up a little pace, and I may not be writing more for a while because technically I got a mental health day today and I'm supposed to be catching up on work. Which I will, in a moment. So, enjoy!

* * *

-5-

* * *

The address he'd gotten from the university had brought him to a strange place—it seemed to be a mansion, but part of it was open, and in the back he could glimpse quite a large expanse of land—certainly a rather sizeable piece of real estate, even for someone with such a lucrative job. Roy let his eyes roam up the tall double doors, noting with some interest that all the carvings on the door possessed great detail—almost too much, really. One would think that the creatures depicted had been imprisoned in the door itself—though he shook off the thought, dismissing it as nonsense. Ringing the doorbell once, he waited… and waited. After a minute, he reached up towards the knocker (it being an affair of spiky black metal and eyes that seemed to laugh maliciously at him) and thought better of it. After all, things were already strange enough—if he got his hand too close, it would probably bite him. 

He was right. Roy was forced to yank his hand back in a hurry as the knocker's handle opened a mouth lined with sharp teeth and chomped down on air, barely missing his fingers. The redhead squirmed as the knocker's eyes fixed upon him, putting him under close scrutiny. It left him with the distinctly uncomfortable feeling that the knocker could somehow see through him, which was a disconcerting thought under normal circumstances. But a knocker as the perpetrator?

"That's enough, Gengar. Leave him be." Dr. Mewtwo opened the door with a mildly bemused expression, motioning for Roy to come inside. "I apologize. I suppose Gengar was just lonely—he's a Ghost type, so he tends to be shunned by the other Pokémon because his behavior usually frightens them. He didn't mean any harm—it's just amusing for him to make humans jump whenever they come by. I've had to send a Growlithe down to fetch the mail nowadays, since the mail carriers don't actually come near the door anymore."

The first thing Roy noticed was that Dr. Mewtwo was remarkably more talkative here than he was in the classroom. He supposed it was because the psychic Pokémon was more comfortable in this setting, but that didn't make it any less startling. "Dr. Mewtwo…"

"…You had something you wanted to talk to me about?" the psychic asked. "All right, go ahead."

"… You were right. He was a vampire." Roy balled his right hand into a fist. "I thought he was just a regular guy who held a night-owl kind of schedule, but he really is a vampire."

"Did I not warn you that he was?" the doctor asked, puzzled. "And I believe that was not exactly a question."

"No, there's a question. I saw the proof that he was a vampire when he took me to the orphanage where he reads the kids bedtime stories. It was the same one that was in my dream."

"Your dream?"

"Yeah… I had a dream a couple nights ago that kept me up afterwards. He was in it—first he was a storyteller, and then he changed and became a predator. He… he lured a girl at a club outside into an alley so he could kill her. He drained all of her blood, Doctor. I saw. But… there isn't a body, because he burned it."

"So not only is he a vampire, but he is one aware of his powers. Interesting…" Was that a smirk in the psychic's eyes? "As it happens, I've found where he lives. But… I've interrupted you, sorry. You were saying?"

"… Why does he seem to care so much? He came chasing after me when I ran out of the orphanage, and when I said that I hadn't tried to make it easy for him to follow me and asked him whether vampires were ever delusional he seemed almost… hurt. But didn't you say that they have no hearts? Why does he act like he does?" Roy's voice rose until he was practically shouting, making the psychic Pokémon wince. "Why does he call me 'love'? Why does he claim that he loves me? Why do I feel like I know him from somewhere? Why can't he just _leave me alone_?"

Bringing his paws down from his ears where he'd clapped them during the louder part of Roy's tirade, Dr. Mewtwo asked tiredly, "Are you quite... done, or is there more?"

The redhead looked at the floor. "I'm sorry. Just that… why can't I stop thinking about him? Isn't he just a bloodsucking monster?" Pretending to be absolutely fascinated by the mosaic of an Articuno under his feet, he almost missed the psychic Pokémon's answer.

"That depends on what you define as the standard traits for 'bloodsucking monsters'. I can show you one if you'd like." Floating down the hallway, the psychic motioned for Roy to follow him.

---

The room they stopped at appeared to contain a large cave. As Roy wondered how the psychic could possibly fit a cave into his mansion, the Pokémon looked at him and merely said, "The wonders of technology." Handing the redhead a little metal sphere, not much bigger than the juxtaposed pads of his thumbs, the Pokémon told him, "Here. That will let you understand them. It's a pet project I've been working on with some doctors who specialize in studying Pokémon."

Taking the tiny orb, Roy wondered how to operate it until Dr. Mewtwo opened up the sphere and removed two delicate, clearly electronic clips. These he floated over to Roy's earlobes, where he clipped them on like earrings. "Not too uncomfortable?" the psychic asked. Roy shook his head. "Good. Follow me, then."

Pushing a button, he opened the door into the cave. Dr. Mewtwo floated in, Roy close behind him—the door closing as soon as they'd crossed its threshold. The redhead gulped, feeling as if maybe… just maybe… this was a little freaky.

The first thing he noticed was that the glass outside had been soundproof. It was _loud_ in here—there were so many voices! But where were they coming from? Out of curiosity he removed one clip and heard the distinct chatter of a few Paras and a Parasect. Overhead soft wingbeats betrayed the presence of Zubat, and there were even a few Clefairy and some Clefable. A Cleffa wandered by and chirped happily at the doctor, who gave it a telekinetic pat on the head and sent it on its way. Replacing the clip, Roy shook his head. Who would have thought that Pokémon had so much to say?

"Anko, come here. I've brought someone I want you to talk to," he heard the psychic call. _Anko? Who was Anko?_

Anko turned out to be a rather high-level Golbat Dr. Mewtwo had been entrusted with the care of by a trainer who for some reason suddenly couldn't take care of her anymore. Why she hadn't yet evolved into a Crobat was something that Dr. Mewtwo had explained as merely 'having not had the opportunity to find a trainer she was especially attached to in more than just the literal sense.' "Yes, Doctor?"

Roy blinked. "Whoa… these translator things really work. Sweet." He could swear that Anko rolled her eyes (or performed some Golbat equivalent of the gesture) at him.

"In any case… Anko, this is Roy. I brought him here because… well, he's apparently having some trouble with a fellow who so happens to share one of your traits. I wanted him to meet you so he could understand that not everything that must consume blood is evil by nature."

The Golbat sniffed (or did something remarkably similar to it). "All right. If the human must know."

"Know what?" Roy tilted his head, confused.

Dr. Mewtwo shook his head. "Some day we will have to show you a completed Pokédex, young man. Golbats are part Poison type, part Flying type. Their trait of renown—or rather infamy—is that they are capable of draining a few pints of blood… quite rapidly. It's what they feed on."

Anko flew over to the psychic Pokémon. "Speaking of which, isn't it time for my blood ration? You won't let me drain any of the other Pokémon, after all."

"Quite right, Anko." The doctor turned to the redhead. "If you'll excuse me, I will return in a second. I believe I have a few pint bags in the refrigerator…"

Watching as the psychic suddenly vanished, Roy jumped as Anko spoke suddenly. "I presume you've never seen him do that before?"

"D-do what?" Startled, the teenager could do little but stutter. "You mean the whole disappearing thing?"

The Golbat sighed. "It's called teleportation, idiot. For the matter, you wanted to talk about the characteristics defining blood-sucking 'monsters', correct?" Anko asked him, the word "monster" leaving her mouth with a tone of distaste.

"… Um…" Roy closed his mouth and pondered what the appropriate thing to say might be. Before he could come up with anything, the Golbat cut him off.

"All right. Technically (and may I add _only_ technically) I fit the description of 'blood-sucking monster.' I drink blood, and I'm a Pocket Monster, to use the full original name for it. Yeesh, no wonder we prefer 'Pokémon'… doesn't sound too flattering." Seeing the redhead open his mouth to cut in, she went on. "All right, back on topic. Dr. Mewtwo's told me that apparently you have a vampiric type after you… and not in the normal way, either."

Roy did a double-take at the last phrase, processing and reprocessing it for all of three seconds it before his jaw dropped. "Wait… _what?_ Not in the _normal_ way? What's that supposed to mean? If you mean he's not hunting me as a victim or something, I thought vampires took victims at random!"

"Random? Yes, I suppose if they're hungry enough they will, but quite a number of them will follow their victims for quite a while, siphoning off a little blood each time. The victims think they're just dreaming, even as they grow weaker and weaker until the morning when they're found in their beds cold as stone and seemingly asleep—that is, unless you count the slightly conspicuous bite mark on their necks. That's the downfall of being a vampiric sort, I suppose—you're far too easy to trace." Anko seemed to simply think a while, until the doctor reappeared with a small bagful of blood and a tray loaded with Pokémon food. "If you'll excuse me, I've got a mealtime to attend." With that the Golbat flew off, zeroing in on the blood ration and rapidly sucking it dry.

The redhead watched with a raised brow as Anko managed to demolish first the blood ration with relative ease, and then part of a decently-sized container of Pokémon food already being attacked by several Zubat and Gligar. He didn't manage to block out the chatter of the Pokémon as they ate, though, and remembered enough about them to be thankful that it wasn't the mealtime of a bunch of Spheal that he was present for.

"We can arrange that, if you'd like," the doctor quipped at him, and the redhead scowled.

* * *

The sun was still high in the sky when Marth rose, but that was just fine. Troubled and insecure after Roy's outburst the night before, he couldn't have slept for the thoughts that mercilessly beat at his mental barriers, almost escaping for any psychic to read. That just simply would not do. He banished all thoughts of sleep and shifted the heavy lid of his stone casket. 

It did not matter that the sun was still up in any case—he planned to travel underground, and far enough below that the sun could not reach him in any case, even if it was there. And then the bath was full, and quipping aloud that what with his odd habits it was far too easy for anyone who wished him ill to simply kill him right then and there by filling the bath with holy water (there came a few ghostly chuckles in reply, all Marth's spectral attendants) he slipped out of his clothing and sank into the bath.

Pursing his lips, the vampire whistled a riff of an ancient melody and lost himself to reminiscing. Visits could wait until he was clean, but even the very act of bathing brought to the surface a slew of memories—some good, some wonderful, and some he wished he could just forever purge from his mind. He closed his eyes and revisited some of those memories—and then there came four knocks on the door. _A friend is here to visit… one who I am very familiar with._

"Come in," he called. The door opened to admit a rather tired looking young female vampire—well, young-looking anyway. "Ah… Princess, you look tired. Would you fancy washing the coffin dust away for a little while? I can always call the bath attendants to draw water for you…"

She stopped him with a wave of a hand. "Please, there is no need. I'm in a hurry. I need to talk to you, now. It's… a matter of extreme urgency."

He stretched languidly and climbed out of the tub, water cascading down his lithe form. Taking the towel one of his spectral servants offered him, he proceeded to dry off—as if he were truly human, as if he'd never died—never been turned. It was strange to watch, and the other vampire averted her eyes, red burning her cheeks. Smiling playfully, he sashayed over to her; with the towel wrapped securely around his hips he kissed her cheek in greeting and laughed when her pale skin flushed darker. "Zelda… now, why are you being so shy? It's been a long time since I last saw you, yet you're as radiant as ever!"

Zelda planted a palm on his chest and gently pushed him away. "Marth, now isn't the time to be playing games. You can tell me what's troubling you later, but right now we have a life-or-death situation on our hands."

He instantly sobered, and for a moment she regretted telling him his troubles could wait—there was a flash of a pained expression she hadn't seen in a hundred years on his face, though Marth quickly recomposed himself. "I see. Does it have anything to do with the mental probe I've had to ward off a few times now?"

"The troublesome psychic probing around is part of it. The other is the part that the coven's seer has prophesied." She scowled as he simply shook his head and walked into his chambers to put his regular clothing on. "Marth, this is serious! I know you say you don't have anything to do with the coven, but—"

"There is no 'but,' Zelda," he replied quietly, pausing in the doorway of his room. "I severed all of my ties to the coven ages ago. You know that, and surely the coven knows it too. I don't care what the coven's seer has to say—if he sent you to try to get me to listen to him, you may as well leave right now."

Suppressing a growl, she grabbed his arm to keep him from walking away from her, grip leaving cruel marks where her fingers were—marks that healed quickly enough. He looked at her coolly, unruffled—though his eyes widened when he realized what it was she was hissing through her teeth. "—you…! You… don't understand, Marth! The seer has been saying that _they_ have begun to purge our kind from the face of the planet, and that when they come here _you_ will be the first to die!"

_I don't want you to die_, her eyes told him. Shaking off her hold on him, he shook his head again and walked into his room. "It doesn't matter if I die," he told her. "_He_ would probably be happy if I did."

The door shut with a click. Zelda slammed a fist into it, the splinters flying everywhere from the crater she'd marked on it. "I… I won't _ever _forgive if you just let them kill you!" she shouted, voice laced with rage and grief and worry—and underneath it all, love.

Marth sat behind the door, back to the hard wooden surface, and listened to Zelda storm away—her footsteps were not nearly as angry as she tried to make them, though. If anything, she was trying—successfully, probably, else her footsteps might have slowed—not to cry. "I'm sorry, Zelda," he murmured, softly. It seemed he would have to change his plans.

* * *

Anko was full, and in a much better mood. In a contented voice she told Roy what life was like for her. She talked quite extensively on other creatures and entities that required blood, as well—vampires among them—and soon Roy knew more about what Marth was supposedly like than he had ever wanted to know from the beginning. 

As she took a breath to begin explaining courtship rituals for Golbat, Roy clapped his hands over his ears. "Enough," he groaned. "Please. I think I've had enough education for one day."

Anko sniffed, if it was possible. "Fine. But I must say that vampire courtship rituals are different—"

"Please. That's enough. No more…" Staggering around comically—intentionally, for the matter, because he'd noticed some of the other Pokémon laughing at his antics—he laid the back of a hand across his forehead and mock-swooned. "My head is about to explode from information overload!!"

"—because they're usually from the era a vampire was from. Most of the time they're quite outdated—usually freshly turned vampires are pretty much just like overgrown leeches. They're ravenous for blood and mindless about getting it."

That stopped the redhead dead in his tracks. "Wait… _what?_"

"Idiot." Anko flew off sulkily to hover by the doctor's shoulder.

"How… how can he be that old?" Roy asked shakily. "He… he doesn't look a day over twenty-two!" _And yet his eyes look so much older than they should be… and that day when I saw him wake from a nightmare, they even looked as if he had already died in some distant, past epoch…_

Dr. Mewtwo shook his head. "That's the curse—or, some might foolishly say, blessing—of being a vampire. Their kind never ages—once they've been turned, they will stay that age forever." He fixed violet eyes on Roy. "If he tries to turn you, and he succeeds, you will be seventeen forever. Is that what you really want? "

Numbly, the teen shook his head. "N-no. That… that'd be terrible. I'd stay this age forever, and I'd have to watch Link and Sheik both grow old and die and leave me alone in this place—"

"Except for him." Anko interjected.

"… Except maybe for him. I wonder…"

"He's fixated on you because you remind him of someone he knew so long ago that the young man's bones aren't much more than dust now. Because you're so much like him that he's desperately hoping you are him. He's essentially alone, from what I could gather—it must be a terrible existence, would you not think so Roy?" The doctor's voice was quiet, pitying, and for a second Roy wondered what he wanted.

He shook his head and thought about it. "I… yeah. Maybe…"

Anko flew off silently, not wishing to hear any more of the exchange.

Dr. Mewtwo nodded. "Very well, then. I think I can show you the back rooms. Follow me." The psychic floated out of the cave. Casting his eyes about for Anko, so he could say goodbye, Roy found that the Golbat was already gone. Wordlessly, he followed the doctor out of the cave—the door slid shut behind him with a tiny hiss.

"Where… where are we going?" the redhead asked, bewildered. "I thought you just wanted me to talk to Anko…"

"I did. But now I believe you are ready," the doctor replied, cryptically.

After a bit of walking, they reached a strange door, with a keypad apparently designed for Dr. Mewtwo's paws. The psychic quickly entered a code and the door slid open with a hiss of pressurized air. He motioned Roy to step in behind him.

The room he'd led the teenager to was a comfortably furnished place, like a living room with a small library contained within it. Mounted above the fireplace, though, was a pair of gleaming swords, blades keen as the North Wind on a frigid winter night. One of the blades was strangely familiar to the teen, the sword practically _singing_ as he reached a hand out to it—and then the doctor led him straight past the mantel and to a bookcase marked by a remarkable abundance of books with red covers. Pulling one such book out, Dr. Mewtwo closed his eyes momentarily. A second passed, and then both heard a tiny _click_—and the bookcase swung inwards to present a doorway that it had previously concealed.

Roy's mouth dropped open as the psychic opened the door and revealed the interior of the hidden room. It was an armory, the likes of which had not been seen since the invention of such weapons as the gun and—though considerably later—the laser cannon. The armory was practically medieval with its slightly antiquated weaponry, all of it gleaming as if it had only been forged at most a fortnight past. Swords, lances, axes, an abundance of bows in various shapes and sizes, including a wide array of crossbows—and then there were the weapons he'd never dreamed of. Long-handled scythes, the like of which Roy had only seen in depictions of the Grim Reaper; a few bolas; several boomerangs; a stockpile of chakrams, throwing stars and knives… the list went on and on. And tucked in the corner, in a fairly inconspicuous cardboard box, were two guns. One was a sniper's rifle, and the other was a pistol—a six-shooter.

In the little ammunition box next to both of the firearms was some numerous magazines worth of silver bullets. Recoiling in shock—he'd read enough lore to understand what they were for, the teen looked up at the psychic with a question in his eyes.

"Yes. That's exactly what this is for. We hunt." Roy didn't need to ask who the 'we' referred to, knowing instinctively that it invited trouble to know too much about organizations that went to this much trouble to be discreet. "Our targets range from such creatures as rogue spirits and zombies to lycanthropes—and yes, of course. Vampires."

"But—" The redhead paused to wet his lips nervously before continuing, "Why did you want me to meet Anko if you hunt vampires? I thought you wanted me to like them more! Anko didn't tell me anything negative about them aside from them preying on people!" Immediately his mind drifted to the last he'd seen the cobalt-haired man who'd begun to haunt his dreams. The vampire had looked… hurt, somehow. Maybe it was because he'd yelled at him for no good reason. Maybe it was because he didn't know how to behave around him. He was beginning to regret snapping at Marth like that… it had been unreasonable for him, especially since he'd _known_ what the man was ever since Dr. Mewtwo had told him.

"I bear no hatred for them. Rather, I would see them put out of their misery—if it seems so hard to live for a mere hundred years, while your friends all aged and passed on, imagine the pain of living for five hundred, or a thousand! We hunt to put vampires out of their pain. Their unfortunate curse is usually the product of circumstance and some bad luck." The psychic shook his head, a sympathetic gesture that seemed… strange. Roy couldn't put his finger on it, but something seemed fishy.

"And so what do you propose I do, then, once you have shown me all of this?" he asked. "What could I possibly have to offer that you'd want involved in something like this?"

The psychic's eyes fixed upon his, and for the first time the teen noted uncomfortably that his large, violet irises were unsettlingly hypnotic. "We have been tailing a certain deer. A stag, not quite a king-stag but majestic all the same. I know where he lies down to sleep, and the stream where he drinks"—images of a large, canopy bed—the canopy and its curtains heavy, black material decorated with tiny seed pearls and crystal beads along the edges, and of the man sleeping within the curtains (looking eerily like a corpse, if a fresh one) flashed before his eyes, followed by the bar that the redhead had run into him at—"and the places where he feeds." The last images, of Marth walking with a young blonde woman away from a nightclub, sent chills up Roy's spine. He knew all too well what had happened after that. "You, Roy, have the key to his heart—or at least our stag thinks so. He trusts you, and will continue to trust you even after the harsh things you've said to him. That _is_ why you came here, is it not?" The doctor cocked his head and looked at the teen quizzically. Flushing furiously, Roy turned away.

"So what is it that you want?" he growled, growing impatient and trying to hide his embarrassment.

"Join us. And then, when he comes to you, we may grant him his eternal rest." The doctor's hypnotic eyes were fixed squarely on his again, Roy noted—with a slight shudder he shut his eyes, trying to block the doctor out. "Don't you think he deserves it?"

For a moment, he stood there with his blue eyes shut tightly and his mind warring with his heart. It was easy to see which party won. Opening his eyes again to stare back into Dr. Mewtwo's violet irises, boldly and unafraid, he declared, "I don't think anyone could ever _deserve_ to die." He paused, for a moment. "… And… I don't think he wants to either. But he's lonely. He's in pain, but he doesn't want to die. Not yet."

"Suddenly you are an expert?" the doctor asked, politely enough to keep his tone from being mocking. "I did not foresee this. Since when have you had the time to study vampires, to say such about them?"

"I haven't," Roy shot back. "But… I think I know him, from somewhere. I know that he doesn't want to die. I… I won't help you kill him!"

* * *

In an old crypt, long since forgotten by all but those who lived there now, a boy sat up and hissed. "She didn't tell him. She didn't tell him that he would be the first to die, and… possibly the _only _one." 

Seated on a stone slab next to the one the boy had jerked awake on, a solid shadow beeped and buzzed at him in concern.

"… I'm fine, Game and Watch. I… I just don't know what to do."

"Then I suppose we'll just have to wing it, won't we Ness?" came a male voice. "Long time no see."

"Fox! I haven't seen you in months! You could have at least sent word via the network!" Ness leaped up and dashed over to hug him—a little too hard, perhaps.

"Yowch! Easy on the hugs, Ness, you're stronger than you think you are." As the boy sheepishly released him, the fox gingerly patted his ribs to make sure they weren't more than bruised. "Falco's on his way," he informed the two. "You can tell the coven that you've got me and my crew around, to watch your backs. And... I have to admit the network completely slipped my mind. I thought it was safer if nobody besides my people knew I was coming here."

"For the most part, we number enough that we can take care of ourselves." Ness paused. "It's… not our backs we really want watched, though. It's another one… he's got blue hair, and blue eyes, and he's tall and really pretty."

"_He_? Aren't _girls_ usually the ones described as 'pretty'?" Fox mused, half-smiling.

"Look, whether you think he's girly or not, he's in danger!" Ness snapped. Seeing the expression on the boy's face, the fox sobered. "His name is Marth. And… and I had dreams that he was going to die, that he would be pursued like a mark in a stag-hunt!"

"They're… just dreams, aren't they?" For a moment Fox McCloud looked exceedingly puzzled.

Game and Watch beeped at him in a slightly put-off manner, in turn, and suddenly a look of horrified understanding dawned upon the fox's face. "You mean to say that Ness' dreams are prophetic in nature? Powers that be!" he swore, softly. "Where can we find this Marth fellow?"

The boy shook his head. "You don't understand. I won't tell you."

Fox blinked, and then focused his eyes on Ness'. "… You _won't_ tell me? What is that supposed to mean."

"… I won't tell you," the boy repeated. "I can't tell you. All I can tell you is that he has fallen in love with a face from the past, and he will die for trying to relive his mortal days."

* * *

A/N: Okay, folks. That's all for now. Thanks to all my lovely reviewers, and to everyone (ghost-reader or not) please, please R and R. It only takes a moment. Can't really tell what there is to fix unless somebody says something, right? (Unless you're going to tell me "Can't fix what's not broke," which works too.) See you all next time!  



	6. Please knock before entering

Okay, Loretta, I remember you were demanding that the guys get hot and sweaty. I'm working on it. Have a little Sheik/Link while you're at it, a'ight? That is, if you're still reading. It's right underneath this note, because for some reason I decided--hey, let's open up the chapter with a little bit of eye candy! Sort of. Anyway. For everybody else--whoa, it's been a while. But I'm updating this since I just updated the other story and this thing was sort of getting cold. Whoops.

Standard disclaimers apply as usual, and warnings this time? Well, it's finally a yaoi warning. Citrusy content below. Hello, it's M-rated. If your sensibilities are too fragile to read this stuff, please don't read it. The back button's where it always is. That being said, we also have a little bit of squicky "oh, the undead guy got half his face peeled off there" down near the bottom, but you'll see what I mean when we get to it. Basically, if you just ate something you're pretty sure you can't hold if you start feeling sick, come back later. Just to be safe. Oh yeah, and I've been playing with different people's sexual orientations, so--if you're going to tell me "WTF, Samus isn't a lesbian!!" we can have that discussion later. Just bear with me for the sake of plot details, a'ight?

All righty, then. Onto the story!

-------------------

* * *

"Ah! Ah, unnghh…" The Sheikah arched his back with grace and flexibility, like nothing Link had ever seen before—with a smile he leaned down to lap at Sheik's hardness again, as if it were his favorite candy. "F-farore, Link—ahh! Don't—nngh—tease me so!" 

"But it's fun," the Hylian replied, mischief dancing in his eyes. He nipped a trail up Sheik's exposed torso, kissing his hardened nipples and laughing delightedly as the Sheikah colored at the action. Planting more butterfly kisses up the slender column of Sheik's neck and onto his jaw, he delicately licked the shell of one of the Sheikah's ears and felt a little thrill run straight down into his own arousal as the other man moaned. He claimed Sheik's lips in a soft kiss—one which swiftly deepened and grew in intensity.

And then the tables were turned, and Link was pushed down onto his back to be undressed and ravished as the Sheikah saw fit—not that he was complaining. "… An eye for an eye, perhaps?" his carmine-eyed lover breathed. "I think you may well be right—this will be fun." The Hylian shivered a little as he saw how Sheik's eyes raked down his body, and then the cold air hit him as the Sheikah undid his shirt and bared his chest. "Let me see… what will be the most fun to tease?"

Before Link could protest this (though if he thought about it, it was only fair, as this was essentially exactly what he'd been doing earlier), Sheik swooped down and set his mouth to work. He nipped at the Hylian's jaw, stealing a kiss from the blue-eyed elf's lips; he sucked a nipple between his lips and toyed with it, the ministrations of his tongue making Link groan and grind his cloth-trapped phallus against his own uncovered hips.

Biting the nipple gently, he laved it with his tongue in apology and moved on to the neglected one—though he quickly tired of just that. Kissing his way down Link's body, he dipped his tongue in the Hylian's navel and grinned cheekily as Link let out a startled chuckle. The Hylian's jeans were in the way, though, and without further ado Sheik reached down to undo the button; pulling the zipper down with his teeth he smiled crookedly at the boxers patterned with miniature Triforces.

But the barriers of clothing were quickly removed, if either of the pair had anything to say about it. And then there was no more thought, no more banter or conversation—there was only feeling, only the pure carnal sensation that went sparking up Link's spine like liquid fire and came back down as soft plasma, pooling heat in his lower belly. He sighed and pushed back insistently against Sheik's hips, driving him deeper into himself; with a quiet growl the Sheikah accommodated the Hylian's unspoken request that he move.

Then they were lost in the heat and the friction, and with a guttural cry Link flew off the precipice, Sheik not long behind him. Neither one seemed to hear the embarrassed squeak from the corridor or the sharp click of the door closing again.

--------------------

--------

Red in the face, Roy sat outside the dorm room with his keys still in his hand. He hadn't expected Link to be there, nor had he expected him to have a guest over! Still, his phone had been off—an odd stipulation that Dr. Mewtwo had enforced when it came to visiting his mansion—and when he checked his missed calls he found that Link's number showed up a couple of times. It wasn't entirely the Hylian's fault.

He was mortified when a slew of mental images all of his own drifted to the surface—and half of them involved doing exactly what he'd just seen with a certain blue-haired vampire. Shaking his head furiously to try to clear his thoughts, Roy only gave himself a dizzy headache and had to lean back against the wall—which was not nearly as soundproof as he wanted, as he thought he could vaguely hear the tender little nothings Link was murmuring as he fell asleep.

"Well, fuck me upside down and sideways," the redhead muttered, disconcerted by the knowledge that his roommate did indeed now have a sex life and that he would have to find some way to accommodate that. At least the Hylian had now gone quiet… maybe his treacherous mind would stop trying to replace the people in the scene he'd just witnessed with himself and Marth.

"I doubt you would much like that," came a wry voice from the doorway.

"Ack!" Turning to the doorway, he found Sheik leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. "… Oh hell, you weren't supposed to hear that." The redhead colored with further embarrassment.

"Weren't supposed to hear what?" Link now stood next to Sheik—unlike the latter, who was fully dressed, the Hylian was clad only in a pair of jeans. "… You know, this _is_ your room too, Roy. You can come in if you want."

Stammering an excuse, his face beet-red, Roy at last gave up; muttering unprintable things under his breath he walked into the dorm room. He only hoped that they were done for the night, else he would get even less than the little sleep he got already.

--

-----

"Why, Prince Marth. What a pleasan' surprise."

"I ceased to be a prince ages ago. It would be best if you avoided using that title, Falcon." The vampire met the bounty hunter's eyes with his own steely blue gaze.

"All right. I'll jus' call you Marth, then. So, Marth, what's troublin' ye?" Captain Falcon leaned back on his office chair and debated whether it was impolite to light up in front of the vampire.

"You can smoke if you want, Falcon. I do not actually require oxygen, and if you wish to voluntarily deprive yourself of it so be it. It is none of my concern."

The man grinned. "I fergot, you kin read minds. And nah, I won' smoke this time. I only do that in fron' of people I don't like. An' I like you, Marth. So tell me, what's on yer mind?"

"Falcon, I need a favor from you."

"Ask away, Marth. I'll do it."

The vampire finally cracked a smile, if somewhat darkly amused. "You will undoubtedly get yourself in trouble someday with that attitude. I could be about to ask you to do all sorts of unspeakable things, from murdering somebody for me to becoming my love-slave for a few months."

"Marth… you saved my life too many times ta count. It's enough fer me. I'll do anything I kin possibly do if you need me to do it—murder, if it's fer a good 'nough reason, and… s'long as you don't hur' me too bad I'll be yer love-slave fer as long as ye want."

"Powers be praised for such devotion. I shall make a point of remembering that last bit," Marth remarked, a twinkle of true humor in his cold blue eyes. "Falcon, I have someone hunting me. I'd like you to find out who it is, and what method they're using to track me. Additionally… I need a weapon."

"That's it? That's easy 'nough. I kin go through all the normal channels, right?"

"Of course. But… I need you to do one more thing for me."

"Sure thin'. What is it?"

The vampire handed the man a photograph. "I need you to make sure that he stays out of harm's way."

"What, they after him too? That's odd, thought that if they're huntin' you, they wouldn't bother with some mortal kid…" The bounty hunter studied the photo with a slightly apprehensive look. "You think he's gonna get killed or somethin'?"

"Possibly."

"… Fer you I'd put my neck on the line, but fer some kid… I dunno…"

"I will bring you back if you die, if that is what you desire."

The bounty hunter laughed. "Marth, I'd accept, but I don't wanna live fer all eternity. That'd really suck, in my hones' opinion. But I'll do it, all right? Contac' you the usual way?"

"No… I will return in a few nights. Do not disclose to anyone that I was here. Good night."

As soon as the vampire was out of earshot, Captain Falcon sighed. "Times like this I wonder why I didn't jus' go ta college like my ma kept telling me to. Oh well… time ta get to work."

--

-----

"Does it bother you?" Link asked, once Sheik had left.

"N-no…" But Roy's averted eyes and face flushed with embarrassment told a slightly different story. Link rolled his eyes.

"You can tell me if it bothers you that I had sex with him. I _am _your roommate; we can work something out if you want."

"It… it doesn't bother me in a bad way." The redhead looked at the floor, guilty flush spread all over his face. "I-I just have to remember to knock next time…"

The Hylian laughed. "Your youth is showing, Roy. You haven't blushed that hard since the day we accidentally walked in on those two lesbians."

"That wasn't my fault, you mixed up the room numbers!"

"And whose brilliant idea was it to make the slightly tipsy roommate remember the room number?"

"W-well, y-y-you _kissed_ me!"

Link grinned and draped a friendly arm over Roy's shoulders. "Roy… Samus is quite famous for permanently sterilizing some guys who tried peeping at her and her girlfriend one too many times. Now, I'm not expecting any children, since I bat for the other team" Roy snorted "but all the same I would rather keep my equipment in proper working order. The idea was to make it look like we were too busy making out to see that we had the wrong room."

The blonde took one look at the thoughtful look that flitted across Roy's face and laughed. "May I assume that you're now wondering whether that fellow you like is as good of a kisser as me?"

"He's probably better than you by a long shot," Roy shot back.

"Do you know from personal experience?"

Blushing furiously, Roy shook his head and shut up. Hearing the Hylian start laughing again he grabbed his pillow and whacked him with it.

It didn't help that Link just laughed harder.

-------------------

Later that night the redhead lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Across the room Link slept peacefully, a mix of exhaustion and post-coital bliss having lulled him quickly into slumber. Sheik had apparently left his mask there, and this the Hylian clung to while asleep; murmuring the Sheikah's name he shifted a little and gave a low-key moan.

"I really don't need this right now," Roy muttered, holding the same pillow he'd hit his roommate with earlier over his head in an effort to block out his roommate's voice. Okay, so he had to admit he wasn't entirely unaffected by what he'd seen earlier, but—hey, he was a hormonal teenager. That was just to be expected. He just… hadn't expected he'd see something like that in his own dorm room. "I _really_ don't need this." Rolling over to his side he closed his eyes and stopped thinking, and soon enough he drifted off.

--

_"Where… where are you?" The voice was familiar, achingly so. He knew that voice, knew it was someone whose mouth he'd once kissed several times a day, whose body he knew better than his own—but why did he hear it now?_ _"Please, love, where are you? I need you, don't leave me! Please don't leave me! _I love you!"

_He didn't know where his voice was coming from, though. "Marth?" he asked, voice trembling. "Marth, where are you? I'm here, but I can't see yo—powers that _be_," he breathed, horror-struck. The vampire lay at his feet, hands chained by shackles of an odd metal he didn't recognize—but it had to be something that bound Marth's strength, else the man could have simply broken the chains. His body was covered in—Roy quickly repressed his gag reflex as he realized that the vampire's body was covered in sporadically placed bullet holes._

_A child's voice he didn't recognize cried mournfully, "He will be the first to die—and possibly the only one. He's in danger, Fox, you need to protect him! Why can't you protect him?" The child materialized just beyond Marth's still form, a young boy with ancient eyes wearing a red baseball cap. "Why didn't you protect him?" he asked Roy, something like accusation in his eyes. "Why didn't you protect him? Didn't you swear to love him and cherish him for all eternity, didn't you say you would protect him?"_

_"Love…" The vampire at his feet stirred, lurching to his feet. "Love, I… Forgive me, but I thirst so terribly…" The redhead blanched as he realized that half of Marth's face was just… _gone._ There was literally nothing more than bone where there should have been normal flesh, and one of the vampire's razor sharp canines bared itself to the strange half-light from the absence of half of Marth's mouth. Two blue eyes—one sitting in an otherwise bare socket—stared at him… or rather, his throat._

_He didn't even see him lunge, only feeling the sharp pricking of two canines opening up one of his veins. The tears came as he opened his mouth to scream and moaned obscenely instead, what should have been pain suddenly becoming such pleasure he never, never wanted it to end—_

--"Roy, wake up! It's just a dream, wake up!"

The redhead jolted awake, registering that there was no vampire pinning him to the bed and draining him. Then he realized that Link had been shaking him to try to wake him up, and when the shaking didn't really stop he looked up and saw that the Hylian was trembling.

"Damn it, Roy, you had me scared there. You just… started thrashing in your sleep, and… what were you dreaming about that made you cry?"

Roy shook his head. "It… it was nothing," he lied. "Just a nightmare."

--

Blue eyes watched the redhead roll out of bed and hit the floor from the tree just outside the dormitory room. "… So he's the one." Gloved hands checked the blaster, _just in case_… and then he was off, springing nimbly from tree to rooftop and then from rooftop to rooftop. "Blue and red, huh? Trust Ness to tell me this stuff in such a roundabout way."

* * *

A/N: If you remember from the last chapter, then you would know that this guy was Fox, here. I was pretty sure he had blue eyes, but I've never actually played any Star Fox games so the only reference pictures I could use were off of SSBM. Anyway. Supposedly he has green eyes in Brawl, but I wasn't looking at that when I wrote this lot. So. Please bear with me, ahaha. Read and reply? Thank you! 


	7. Piece it together

He'd never been down to this sector of town before, but the note from Link told him to meet him by the marketplace in the Gerudo Desert sector—not the greatest area in the city, but colorful by all means. On practically every corner was a slender but muscular acrobat or dancer, all of them female and all of them sporting Ganondorf's shade of red hair. Roy couldn't help but wonder whether they were related somehow, noticing how Ganondorf's particular facial configuration was repeated—more subtly and delicately, and with a couple variations here and there—in each of the performers he passed.

"Hey, kid."

Roy turned to see that the one addressing him was a tall, well-built fellow wearing a skintight bodysuit outfitted with shoulder pads—most definitely _not_ Link. Half his face was obscured by a helmet. Not knowing the man's motives, he decided to play it safe and turned away to try to blend into the crowd.

A hand grabbed his shoulder. "Listen, kid, I need ta talk to you."

"Let go of me! How can I trust you? I don't even know you!"

"I don' know you either, and we'll probably have ta keep it that way. Look, I know it sounds suspicious, but this is the only way I kin contact ya—ya don' know anything about code and our mutual frien' doesn't want his presence advertised."

"Mutual… friend?" A glimpse of blue hair flickered through his mind, followed by the flash of blue eyes—and he shook his head to clear the haze developing. "I… I haven't seen him since I ditched him a few nights back. I can't help you find him, if you that's what you want."

The man shook his head. "Look, ya got me wrong. _He _asked _me_ ta keep an eye out for ya. Make sure you don' get into anythin' ya shouldn't be mixed up in. That kinda thing. Normally I don' take babysittin' jobs, but for him I made an exception."

_Arrogant son of a—_"Yeah, well, I don't _need_ your protection, thanks." Fuming, the redhead turned about as if to leave.

"Well, ya certainly don' need yer wallet back, then. Ya gotta keep an eye on yer pockets 'round here, everybody knows that." The man held up a slightly battered wallet that Roy recognized immediately. "And before ya go jumping to any conclusions, I nicked it back from a lady over there. Don' tell me ya never even noticed it was gone?"

The Gerudo woman in question just winked and blew Roy a kiss, shouting, "You're a cutie, boy, want to come play with me? I'll teach you to avoid getting your pocket picked—among other things!" The teen flushed furiously as he understood what she was implying and her companions laughed at the display. The catcalls and wolf-whistling didn't help at all, and his face only better matched his hair.

"I think you picked a virgin this time, Rizela!"

"Hehe, lookit that! He's blushing, Rizela, I think he really _is_ a virgin!"

"Maybe we should _all_ teach him a thing or two. He's a real cutie, that's for sure. Hey Red, how's about us blowing your mind?"

More wolf-whistles followed, and the catcalling got to be so much Roy thought he would simply pass out from the rush of blood to his face. The man in the helmet simply stood there waiting to see what he would do.

Help came from an unexpected source. "Don't bother with that one, Rizela. Do you really want bad blood in the tribe?" Ganondorf Dragmire walked imperiously down the center of the sidewalk, passersby instinctively moving aside to make way for him.

Though Roy seethed at being called "bad blood," the Gerudo women immediately stopped catcalling at him—and began heckling Ganondorf instead. "Come on, then, Ganny, show us what you've got!"

"What's the matter, jealous Ganny?"

"We all know _you're_ not a virgin, Ganny, that's why you're no fun to tease!"

Ignoring the women's exclamations, Ganondorf stopped in front of Roy. "What are you doing in this part of the city anyway? Go back to the uptown, boy. This is _my_ domain, and I don't need you and your ilk here." He nodded at the man in the helmet. "Falcon. Take him back to where he belongs, if you please. I'm assuming you're watching him?"

"Yeah, that's part o' my current job." Curious, Roy thought. His voice is relaxed, but his entire body is tense… like he's ready to take off any second. "So you know the kid, Ganondorf?"

"He's in some of my classes at the University. Highly naïve, probably the youngest student—younger than Link, even, which says something. I cannot give him points for genius, so I wonder sometimes what the Hands were thinking letting him in there."

That did it. "Hey, don't talk about me like I'm not here!" Roy protested, hands clenched at his side.

"Let's go, kid. I know this nice little café ya might like…" The man in the helmet held out a gloved hand to him. "An' it's not anyplace ya have to watch yer pockets. This place's great, sure, but ya ought to come only when ya've got nothin' worth stealin' on your person. 'Least, 'til you learn how not to get yer pocket picked, anyway." He tipped a casual salute to Ganondorf, and with a snort of derision the Dragmire heir continued on his way.

Roy looked suspiciously at the man Ganondorf had called Falcon, but as soon as he tried to make eye contact through the helmet he found himself recalling a flash of blue hair and the rustle of a midnight-blue cloak. "… All right, but I'm not going anywhere until you tell me your name."

"…They call me Captain Falcon, but jus' Falcon'll do."

* * *

"Wait a minute… so it wasn't Link who sent me that note? Then… who was it?" Saying that Roy was irritated would put it mildly. If not for the fact that this man seemed to know more about what was going on than he did, he would've left a long time ago—as it was, he was becoming increasingly annoyed at the man's apparent inability to give him a straight answer.

"Told ya, I needed ta meet ya somehow. Tha' was th'only way I could think of without you not comin' from sheer suspicion." Captain Falcon seemed calm, arms folded placidly across his chest. He drank his coffee slowly.

The redhead stared at the cup of black coffee the man had bought him, sitting in front of him. The dark liquid stared balefully back at him, his almost-indiscernible reflection wearing a dark scowl. "So what do you _want_ with me?"

"I'm supposed ta keep ya safe. That's what he asked o' me, and if he asked me ta do it I'll do it withou' complaining, even if it kills me."

Roy blinked. "…What?"

"Ya heard me. I'm goin' ta protect you, kid. There's something after our frien', and he's worried they'll come after you too." Captain Falcon lowered his voice, casting a furtive glance about for eavesdroppers. "Y'know, he considers you important to him. That's why he asked me ta do this—so if they consider comin' after you, you won' be defenseless or unprepared. And lemme tell you this now—if they're who I think they are, they wan' him bad. Real bad. They won' hesitate ta get ta you, and they won' hesitate ta use ya if it means they kin draw him out of hidin'."

Reminded suddenly of the chat with Dr. Mewtwo he'd had, Roy rubbed his temples. "… Oh no. What have I gotten myself into?"

* * *

Slender, muscular limbs twisted and contorted as the Sheikah went through various exercises in flexibility. Fascinated, blue eyes ran over the contours of the young man's body as Sheik proceeded to perform several handsprings in a row, transitioning to a series of aerials.

"Sheik, I have no idea how you do that, and I imagine it'd hurt to learn how, but—hot _damn_. Wow." Link paused to run his eyes up and down Sheik's lithe figure, sheathed in a skin-tight gymnast's suit, and whistled. "Just… wow."

A very, very slight smirk found its way onto the Sheikah's face. He looked around briefly for any potential audience, but the gym was empty save for himself and Link. "I imagine you're in the meantime busily undressing me in your mind." Flashing a grin at the Hylian, he pulled down the cloth covering the lower half of his face. "Not that I mind too much, I suppose."

Link laughed giddily into the kiss, and stopped thinking as one of Sheik's hands slipped under his shirt. He broke the kiss and nipped the corner of Sheik's jaw, and was about two seconds from asking Sheik how in Hyrule they were supposed to get the suit off of him—

"Would you two get a room? This is a gym, not a love hotel!" A lithe, well-endowed blonde woman wearing a turquoise gymnastics leotard stood two steps in from the door. "Honestly—wait a minute. Link? I thought you were sleeping with that redhead, what'shisname—oh yes, Roy."

Sheik blinked, looked at the Hylian once, and back at the newcomer—"You know her, Link?"

"I, uh, accidentally mixed up the room numbers once and gave her the impression I was too busy with my quote end-quote 'boyfriend' to see that I had the wrong room until I actually opened the door. Roy's just my roommate, but I think you already knew that since he accidentally walked in on us."

Red eyes studied Link's blue for a moment. "I believe you."

Samus looked at the pair for a while. "So, Link, going to introduce me to your _actual_ boyfriend?" She'd overheard the exchange. "And I don't actually hurt people for walking in as long as they walk straight back out and shut the door, contrary to popular belief." She stretched briefly and did a few handsprings.

"Oh. Uh, yeah. Samus, this is Sheik."

The gymnasts shook hands. "So, Samus, what is your specialty?"

"I do a lot of floor and some uneven parallel bars. Every now and then I wind up on the high beam…"

* * *

"Lord Marth, what is the matter?" a ghostly attendant asked Marth.

The grim sadness painted over Marth's features did not lift. "It is nothing, Gordon."

The ghost said nothing, knowing that somehow his words had triggered a memory from the life his master had left behind. When the silence dragged long, he bowed and left, knowing that to disturb Marth now would hardly be considered looking after his master's best interests.

Left alone, the cobalt-haired vampire muttered a quick incantation and brought up an illusion. It was a spell he'd not used since he'd learned how a mere two decades before, but it was no matter. All he wanted to do was see his face, touch his skin, plunder his mouth…

Roy's image hung wavering in the air, teasing him with its presence. With a growl he dispelled the illusion, knowing now that having met the real one the intangible presence of simply his image would never be enough again. And yet...

And yet the real one hated him. He couldn't live with the real Roy hating him.

"Zelda, I do not think you will ever forgive me after all," the vampire murmured, eyeing the flask of holy water in the chest by the corner. It was only half full—someone had once tried to empty its contents onto him, but had botched the attempt and the stuff had splattered everywhere. He'd only been hit by a teaspoon's worth, but such pain-! The burns had taken days and days to recover. Such was the power of the acidic substance most often called "holy water."

It was a special compound, horribly acidic and deadly to normal humans, let alone vampires. Clear, tasteless, odorless, and for all intents and purposes identical by appearance to water, nobody could tell the difference. It did have one flaw, though—it retained its acidity for only a limited period of time. Nobody knew how long it lasted, since a hunter had poured a bucket of the stuff over a vampire after carrying it for a week, and it had worked.

This flask, though… had been around for a hundred years. Nothing would grow in it, of course. Marth picked it up and uncorked the top, carelessly tossing it aside. He poured about a thumbnail's worth onto the palm of his hand and waited for the pain.

And waited.

And waited.

After fifteen minutes had elapsed, he'd lost patience and simply emptied the entire contents of the bottle over his head.

Nothing.

At last, struck by the irony and feeling defeated, Marth leaned back against the wall and laughed, horribly. "So. I have become like this… just as he said I would." He tossed the bottle away carelessly, watching it shatter as it struck the far wall. "Gordon," he called, grim expression painted on his face.

The earlier ghostly servant whose name was not Gordon but Lyon (though it made little difference—when Marth was in such a state, it was best simply to respond to whatever name he called out) reappeared with a bow. "Yes, Lord Marth?"

"Tell me the story. About the monster who became human again."

The servant bowed again. "As you wish, Lord Marth. Long ago, there was a man who was cursed..."

* * *

_"Have all preparations been made?"_

_"Yes, sir. Our target has been located."_

_"Very well. Commence operation Stag Hunt."_

* * *

A/N: Sorry about the delay! I can't guarantee regular updates, since I'm in senior year and applying to colleges and whatnot. This has been sitting on my hard drive for a while, and is completely unbeta'ed, but I hope you liked it somewhat and that you'll come back sometime whenever I update this again. Cheers! (Please leave a review! :D )


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